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" The Wastrel rushed. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. She was pensive and thoughtful. She will take me in until I can make some plans. Bought her a nose job for her sixteenth birthday along with a car, I forget what model, but it was a nice car, a Mercedes convertible. A bumper round, gentlemen. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. I was already established as Physician when your wedding day arrived.
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