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- Wayne blinked at him, perturbed and disoriented, although it took him a moment to figure out why. The pad of white gauze was still taped over the ruin of Manx’s left ear, but he had stripped off the bandage wrapped around his forehead. The six-inch slash across his forehead was black and rancid-looking, a Frankenstein scar—and yet it looked as if it had been healing for twelve days, not twelve hours. Manx’s color was better, his eyes sharper, bright with humor and goodwill toward men.
- “Your face is better,” Wayne said.
- “It is a little easier on the eyes, I guess, but I will not be entering a beauty contest anytime soon!”
- “How come you’re better?” Wayne asked.
- Manx thought about that for a bit, then said, “The car takes care of me. It is going to take care of you, too.”
- - Search Engine: Sugarcreek, Pennsylvania
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