An hour later, Hoffa drove a sullen van out of neon-lit Chinatown. Miller sat in his co-pilot, his feet on the center console, a toothpick in his mouth, and stared gloomily at the skyscraper outside the car. Not a word.

Hoffa didn't know why Miller was so angry, and he was angry too. If it was a few years backwards, he was afraid that he would fight Miller when he poured wine, but he went through Grindelwald and six thousand cycles

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