“Listen,” he said grimly. “I want to see what this stupid assist that cost me fifteen thousand Wes-Dem dollars is going to do with that. I’m serious; I’m waiting.” He jabbed the rerun tab of the machine. “When’s the speech due?” she asked. “Tomorrow.” “Get up early.” “Oh no.” He thought, I hate it even more when it’s early. The rhetorizor, in its cricket’s voice, intoned folksily. “We think of rats, of course, as our enemy. But consider their vast value to us in cancer research alone. The lowly rat has done yeoman’s service for huma—” Again, at his savage instigation, it died into silence.
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