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... ammer, It hurt so much.
I put the revolver in my hand on the table. White smoke was rising from the muzzle.
I was standing in front of the baccarat table.
Across the table, a man was sitting on the other side. He was my opponent.
I took a chip from my pile and slid it toward him.
“You win three in a row. Congratulations.”
“–!! hah! Hah-hah-hah!”
The man was panting and hyperventilating, his face drenched in sweat. He stiffens, staring at the chip I gave ...
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