Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. But I'll never part with your irons. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. “Katy Pfister. .
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