Claudia Fosca Stahl

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“Don’t,” I said as the first tear slid down my face. They didn’t listen, though. Four arms braced me as I fell apart, right there on the grass beside the cider house. The first sob sort of broke a dam inside me I hadn’t known I had. I’d never cried before. Not that I could remember, anyway.
Keepsake (True North, #3)
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