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The young man in the loose wrap-around tunic who entered was a stranger. At least, his face and his voice were strange, but voices could be mechanically altered, and a skilled cosmetician could render any face unrecognizable. He looked like a student, or a minor commercial executive, or an engineer, or something like that.
BuPsychHyg is supposed to detect anybody who believes in looking out for his own interests first, and condition him into a pious law-abiding sucker. Well, the sacred Bureau of Sucker-Makers slipped up on a lot of us. It's a natural alibi for Tortha Karf." "It's also a lot of grief for all of us," the young man in the wrap-around tunic added.
Two hours later, Oliver was in Maryland easing around a curve on a gravel driveway. Stones crunched under his wheels as he stopped in front of a white colonial. Jacky came out to meet him. She was wearing a Red Sox T-shirt and a wrap-around cotton skirt. "Well, well," she said looking at his suit and holding her arms open. "What have we here?" "A player," Oliver said, coming close.
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