John Michael Strubhart

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No matter how necessary it seemed, Doakes was out of bounds for me. I could look out the window at the maroon Taurus nosed under a tree, but I could do nothing about it except wish for some other solution to spontaneously arise—for example, a piano falling on his head. Sadly enough, I was left hoping for luck.
Dearly Devoted Dexter (Dexter, #2)
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