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Fire at Dawn I
She flipped the mask around to the back of her head. It looked like she had her face on backward as she led him by the hand up a little cobbled lane built in a century of donkeys and carts. Burnt russet hair flowed around the edges of the mask, falling over her shoulder blades as he trailed her, gripping her hand as her lithe arm extended straight back. He was sorely tempted to stop short and force her to turn so he could see her face. He knew her. He wasn’t quite sure how or from where, but...
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