‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. You might even tire of me by then, you know. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. I won’t try.
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