We have seen pitted cheeks, which we would not exchange for dimples and a satin skin. Spurlock looked up. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. At least here she was safe. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. Wood. She was chic, distinguished, unusual.
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