It’s not you—not a bit. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. "I am as God made me. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. ” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle.
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