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And I was sure that he and Murell had come to some kind of an understanding, while I was being lied to by Belsher. I didn't get it. There was just too much going on around me that I didn't get, and me, I'm supposed to be the razor-sharp newshawk who gets everything. It didn't take long to get Murell's luggage assembled.
If I were a physicist, he told himself, if I were a physicist instead of a newshawk, I could get a computer to tell me the probability ratio of whether I hold an answer. That probability ratio is probable ten billion to one, he told himself. That probability ratio is zero. Witches are for burning, he told himself. He told himself a lot of things, and he sweated through the cold January weather.
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