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Phormio continued to act promptly; taking a treasured bottle from a cupboard he filled a mug and pressed it to the newcomer’s lips. The fiery liquor sent the colour back into Glaucon’s face. He raised himself higher—strength and mind in a measure returned. Bias had whispered to Phormio rapidly. Perhaps he had guessed more of his master’s doings than he had dared to hint before.
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