Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. He grew even harder. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. . In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. ” Brendon was not inclined to be led away from the point.
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