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The Vice-Chancellor had known Angers for almost a century. The man may be wounded, he may be defeated, but his posture is always as graceful as an old court cat.
At this time, Angers looked like a chicken in soup. The expensive black suit was covered with raindrops, and the usually neat silver hair was a little wet.
"Don't lean on my chair."
Angers waved his hand, expelled Flamel, who was occupying the magpie's nest, and leaned back on the large chair.
Usually he ...
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