They laughed and talked and stared about them. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Sheppard. I love you more. And he who opposes me in it shall feel the weight of my hand. But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again.
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