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Sylvan Cheney smiled, curving his lips, with a hint of bitterness in his smile.
He clenched his fists, standing motionless by the bed.
At this moment, his heartbeat was steady, and his chest was calm. Over an hour of anxiety and impatience felt like a walk through the Gate of Ghosts.
He didn’t know why he felt this way. This feeling was strange and mysterious.
The effects of alcohol hadn’t completely faded. Now that he was quiet, the alcohol kep ...
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