Getting out his immense Irish linen handkerchief, Maury mopped his forehead. “I’m sorry, Chic.” He eyed his employee anxiously. The adult male simulacrum said, “This is indeed a distressing exchange.” “I feel the same way,” its mate added. Glaring at them, Maury spluttered, “Tough. I mean, mind your own darn business. Who asked for your artificial, contrived opinion?” Chic murmured, “Leave them alone.” He was stunned at the news; emotionally, he had been caught totally by surprise, despite his intellectual forebodings. “If Mr. Strikerock goes,” the adult male simulacrum stated, “we go with
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