“I do not blame him. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him.
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