His vicious abusiveness vanished. “I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. . ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor.
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