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Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. ’ Gerald grinned. ’ ‘Well, don’t bite my head off,’ protested Mrs Sindlesham, clearly amused. “I want to have no distractions. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. But I don’t wish to hear that abomination on her lips again. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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