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She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. He crawled underneath the covers with her. . Even in death, Vorsack was not a man. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. . But he has never been near her—never. White would not approve of callers.
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