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Play foul, and win. Perhaps it was loneliness. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. Or perhaps my father once. . He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh.
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