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The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. ‘I’ll handle her better alone. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. ” Brendon laughed softly. ” His arms were around her.
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