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“但是,远不只是抽抽雪茄这么简单。”凯奇打开烟盒,指着盖背面的一个角落,“你看,木头上烧刻着一个名字——手法看来并不专业。但怪就怪在这儿,这上头的名字是‘乔治’。这,可不是死者的名字。” “可能吗?怎么这么傻?不就是……现在回家,明天我送你来住院。”
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