She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. “Are these ordinary sapphires?” she said. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me.
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