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sounded like recognition.
Of Moren upstairs.
Of Kora and her impossible coffee orders.
Of the flower shop, the debt, the grief, the sharp edges she no longer had to hide behind fake smoke and borrowed darkness.
Lenora reached up and touched the lapel of his coat.
“That’s a dangerous thing to tell a woman on her own doorstep.”
His eyes darkened in a way she continue reading …
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