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... f had been bothering me for a week.
Frontier spirits. Ale in three grades. A mid-range mead I restocked every two months without drama. It was a respectable spread. Kern had never complained, and Kern’s complaints about the spirits situation were the sort of feedback a person could rely on for accuracy.
Still, that empty space had been staring at me since Monday.
Wine, specifically. A Valenian red.
The first question was whether the cellar temperature would treat ...
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