Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. She looked at him gravely and squinted. I don't have a phone in my room. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. The pistol was lowered slightly. “In Paris. .
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