[Giorno is now wheezing. Wheezing so much, so dramatically, his breath fluttering. The beeping has intensified, probably, even though real hospital machines don't work like that. He opens his eyes again when Polnareff returns to his side, reaches out for the pudding — and then his hand falls to the floor.]
Papa . . . a spoon . . .
[And then, a little more briskly:] We're not barbarians, Papa.
no subject
Papa . . . a spoon . . .
[And then, a little more briskly:] We're not barbarians, Papa.