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She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. “We pretend bodies are ugly. Get pen and paper for the missie. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. “So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed. “It was a plot amongst them all to humiliate her.
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