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Chapter 33: Dead Man’s Hand
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Chapter 35: City of Dreams
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... omfortable patience, the kind that costs something. He’d been at this table for forty minutes now. He’d won one hand, lost two small ones deliberately to keep the temperature in the room comfortable, and folded everything else.
His chip stack sat at roughly thirty-four thousand, slightly up from where he’d started, and the table had spent the last thirty minutes recalibrating what they thought they knew about him.
That was the point.
He knew enough about poker now — from ...
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