From the first draft of The Dose Makes the Poison, an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance between a surgeon and a journalist, in the midst of a Gilded Age small town murder mystery.
Whitlock looked up sharp from the corpse. “You know this man?”
“I do.” Jack swallowed; his throat had gone dry. “He came to my clinic yesterday. Wanted a cure for his deafness.”
“And what did you prescribe him?”
“I didn’t prescribe him an autopsy, if that’s what you’re askin’.”