Deanna

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So here she was, poised on a familiar precipice. Go on ignoring him and get called a bitch. Tell him she just wanted to be left alone. And get called a bitch. Or be her mother’s version of a good girl, stop what she was doing, and invite the inevitable small talk with some guy who assumed the right to interrupt her because he was a man and she was a woman. And call herself a coward. None appealed.
Poisonfeather (Gibson Vaughn, #2)
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