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... ermeated the stale, musty air of the dimly lit room. Even without lifting the sleeve of Barty's worn, tattered robes, Bryan could easily guess the dire state of the gruesome burns inflicted by the Hungarian Horntail on Barty's arm. He gazed at Barty, his eyes filled with the concern and empathy for an old friend.

"I absolutely refuse to go to St Mungo's, Bryan—" Barty looked truly weak and fragile, his face was thin and haggard, and even speaking seemed to be an immense struggle for him, ...

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