Sunday snippet, 3.17.19

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’.”

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