“You remind me of a little blue stone I had once. I have it about me. He saw that she was tense. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. A shiver slid down inside her. Then she was out of the door and running, fast. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. Kevin Chen, Martin’s father, was equally stately, his dark brown eyes bright with the fire of extreme intelligence.
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