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Arthur Bell.
The great imported chef himself.
“This another applicant?” he asked.
“She says she is,” the guard replied.
Arthur let out a short breath. “My dear, this is not a street fair. We are not taking anonymous casseroles from the sidewalk.”
Brooke felt heat rise in her neck.
Then she said, calmly, “That’s fine. I’d rather be from a street fair than continue reading …
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