Jimmer Hardy

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He backed out of the door, scraping the paint as he went. There was barely any left now and the whole jamb became even more gouged and gashed every time he passed through. It looked terrible. It still does. I’ve never let them paint over it. He disappeared and his coughing Dopplered down the corridor. There was a distant cry as he collided with someone.
A Symphony of Echoes (The Chronicles of St. Mary's #2)
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