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... ed off the sofa, glaring at a certain calm and shameless individual.
She straightened her sweater and put the recorder on the table.
“Here’s your thing back.”
Unexpectedly, Sylvan Cheney stretched out a hand and caught hold of her wrist.
The coolness in his stern eyes was icy, as though spread with a layer of frost, devoid of much warmth.
“Where are you going?”
“Weren’t you going to rest? I won’t disturb you, I’ll go back to my room.”
In fa ...
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