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... i’s private estate in Cape Town, at a luxurious dining table made of pink ivory, Dlamini was holding a bowl of hot soup and sipping it carefully.
Currently, his face was pale, and there was a frail light in his expression. Even his hands, holding the bowl, were trembling slightly.
Although Dlamini was fifty-eight years old, his body had always been strong and sturdy like a puma at its peak. There was no sign that he was someone about to enter his later years.
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