Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. ” She whispered. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. Saren Chen was a tall woman, thin and beautiful in a masculine way, Germanic.
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