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"Where's the wound at?" he asked. The young fellow showed him. "J-June, you go get Doc T-Tuckerman," Blister ordered. She flew to obey. The fat man opened the shirt. "Look out for the blood," Bob said, still faintly. "Ouch!" Blister's hand was traveling slowly next to the flesh. "N-no blood here," he said. "Why, I felt it." "R-reckon not, son." Blister exposed his hand in the moonlight.
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