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... t it would never cause him pain or discomfort.
Then, Clo fetched a goblet and placed it on the edge of a large plastic basin.
"Ah—" he comfortably lay on the bed made of three or four layers of ice cubes, emitting a somewhat wanton moan.
He pulled out a small knife and slashed his wrist.
Blood slowly seeped out, congealing into a crimson line at the cut, which, obeying gravity, flowed downward, slid past Clo’s fingertips, and dripped into the goblet.
The r ...
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