Smita Jalaf

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“I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t like me,” he said, smiling again, this time almost as though embarrassed, or something. “But there’s no reason we can’t be friends. And your sister …” “I don’t have to like you,” Dara said, moving past him, a blast of the leather scent in her face. “You’ll be gone soon.”
The Turnout
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