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expensive panes of gray light. Her furniture was leather and restraint.
She was in her 60s, precise, silver-haired, wearing a suit so perfectly cut it made my own feel conversational.
When she came in, she didn’t waste a second on false warmth.
“Miss Hail,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”
So I did.
Not emotionally.
Structurally.
I laid everything out continue reading …
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