" "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the word “lover. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. You are—horrible. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. The chair was torture.
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