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“How do you feel?” she asked. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. Your fingers are even now as stiff as a schoolgirl’s. ’ So saying, he pulled her forward, slipping her arms about his back. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe.
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