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I'm fine.
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Our truce is over at the bottom of that glass,
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so sip cautiously.
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A rich man's scotch.
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It always comes with an aftertaste.
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The sour taste is in your mouth, street wizard,
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because the old gods don't honor you.
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Your magic isn't strong enough to raise the dead.
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Oh, the dead are better left buried, mate.
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Is that so?
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Even if I offered you a chance to talk to your mother?
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That's not what you owe me, is it?