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Relieved that Harold is, as usual, still dispensing valuable and new information, with the addition of a faint but unmistakable trace of, god forbid, an English accent, I find myself brazen enough to blurt out, "Shut up, Carnes, they will not." I down the martini, Stoli, while Carnes, looking quite taken aback, stricken almost, turns around to face me, and his bloated head breaks out into an uncertain smile.
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