He grumbles to himself in the dimly lit office as he pours over paper after paper. It's hard enough to focus on this stuff with the holiday on his mind, how the heck am I supposed to eat at Wayne Manor? I should have known something like this would happen eventually...grumble, grumble."Oh. Come on." He begins bleeding (figuratively) over the
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"Any ideas what he's up to? I should warn Barbara and Dick. Oh, God. The baby. My grandchild. What if he's after my granddaughter?" He collects himself, "I want to help...I need to help."
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