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The light of the oil lamp from his room dimmed and then went out before Doc came out of his room in a pair of sweats and wrapped in a fine bathrobe. He still had the half-finished glass of brandy in his left hand as he placed an older, loaded pistol between the tops of some books and the roof of the book case they occupied with his right hand. With a smile, he just admired the sight of Ashlea.
"Stunning," he simply said, raising his glass to her and finishing it's contents. He walked over to where the bar was and offered her a drink.
"The same as last night, Dahlin'," he said in his old southern gentleman's drawl, "or something else?"
He put his glass on the bar top, prepping to fill it.