Mary Kubica

“I run my hand the length of her hair. My hands move down her arms. They memorize her fingers and the shape of her back. She stares at me with this look I've never seen before, not on her or any other woman. Trust. Respect. Desire. I commit to memory every freckle, every blemish on her face. I learn the shape of her ears and run a finger across the arch of her lips.”


Mary Kubica, The Good Girl
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The Good Girl The Good Girl by Mary Kubica
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