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... uan retreated, sat on the sofa, keeping a fair distance from Lu Zhao.
He took out a cigar from his inner pocket, but remembering he was in a hospital, he restrained himself and merely sniffed the cigar under his nose.
At this moment, he couldn’t help but think of Dad. His habit of smoking cigars was actually inherited from Dad. It wasn’t learned intentionally; having watched for so many years, that silhouette was already imprinted in memory, and thus he would naturally do so when ...
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