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. So simple that the People translated other currencies into it, for accounting.
But each sheet was ten thousand credits . . . and there were a hundred sheets. "Did I . . . inherit this?"
"Oh, that's just spending money -- checks, really. You convert them at dispensers in stores or banks. You know how?"
"No."
"Don't get a thumbprint on the sensitized area until you insert it in the dispenser. Have Leda show you -- if that girl could make money the way she spends it, neither you nor I would have to work. But," Weemsby added, "since we do, let's do a little." He took out a folder and spread papers. "Although this isn't hard. Just sign at the bottom of each, put your thumbprint by it, and I'll call Beth in to notarize. Here, we can open each one to the last page. I had better hold 'em -- the consarned things curl up."
Weemsby held one for Thorby's signature. Thorby hesitated, then instead of signing, reached for the document. Weemsby held on. "What's the trouble?"
"If I'm going to sign, I ought to read it." He was thinking of something Grandmother used to be downright boring about.
Weemsby shrugged. "They are routine matters that Judge Bruder prepared for you." Weemsby placed the document on the others, tied the stack, and closed the folder. "These papers tell me to do what I have to do anyway. Somebody has to do the chores."
"Why do I have to sign?"
"This is a safety measure
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