Sarah Ziemann

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The woman in the white robe ushers her. Winnifred complies swiftly and comes back ten minutes later, looking ashen and pale. Her shoulder bumps into my arm as she leaves the room, but she doesn’t even notice. I swivel my head to follow her movements. In the hallway, Winnifred collapses midstep, on the floor, back hunched, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing.
Fallen Foe (Cruel Castaways, #2)
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