He turned and put the tip of his forefinger against the wrist. The scars were there, all right, but they were smooth. It must have been long ago. It could have been a car accident or some other trauma, of course, but something told him it wasn’t. It seemed like more evidence of some past internal war with the thing that had brought her here tonight—some enormous battle between the intelligence of her mind and the intelligence of her cells. If that’s what it was, the cells had won. Probably they had bled enough to throw off infection, then swelled to slow down the bleeding, clotted, and then
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