Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. Here goes. I just thought perhaps a different boy was in store for you. Sydney sprang up. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. " "You're agitating yourself unnecessarily, Joan," returned Wood, in a soothing voice.
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