PREVIEW
... to death!”
“He’s beating up the poor animal!”
“Did he start drinking in broad daylight? Someone stop him!”
Ah, people and their prejudices.
I’m treating him, damn it.
Sure, I don’t have a medical license, so technically it’s quack treatment, but what choice do I have? Time is running out.
When I felt Max’s neck, I could clearly make it out — a solid, fist-sized lump was lodged in his throat.
Probably a large piece of fruit or a stone that h ...
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