He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. Her normally shiny hair was 143 stringy and flat. His frowning gaze came back to her. "Dying, Sir Rowland. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. Consider you’ve got resources deposited with me.
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