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As they got up and walked away from the dusty, tired and crackling neon lights that hung above the worn out, polished mahogany bar, she felt his hand slide ingenuously under the lining of her leather jacket, and the warmth of his flattened palm, that began rubbing against her waist, which contrasted greatly with the rushing wind of the night, as he went and opened the door for her, and guided her out. Like old friends, they walked silently in almost complete darkness, in communal muteness towards the strip, which shone with obscene, spectacular gravity.She could sense, or had an idea that he was searching for the right words to say. His deep blue eyes, their icy gaze, buried under the furrow of his dark chestnut brow, scanned for a sign from her into the darkness.Eventually, he said, his voice seemingly sweeter, yet coarse, ''Let's keep in touch, yeah...?''She smiled, and replied in her usual snarky, cynical tone, ''As if I'm ever going to get rid of you...''He chuckled, a deep smile. Tell me does everything here feel more like a dream?”Alan nodded then looked over at Truda who was starting to stare at him. Then he felt Truda try to enter his thoughts but started to scream when she barely touched the surface.“NO! Get away from me you bastard! Harman where are you?” She started to yell then she started to scream. Alan snapped out of his reverie and reached out to Truda, seeing the horrible experiments the doctor had done only to her to increase her visions. Growling Alan appeared next to her in the vision and grabbed her hand leading her away from the memory. Truda clung to him when he tried to withdraw.“I cannot stay here, Truda,” Alan said as he tilted her face toward him. “Trust that you are now far more powerful than the memory is. Remember this and you can no longer be hurt by them.” A new light seemed to appear in her eyes as she stared at him and nodded letting him go.Sucking in a deep breath Alan hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath. Truda’s.
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‘Who are you, sir?’ ‘I am the Duke of Ridgeley, Cameron Northleigh.’ Heather was shocked. The Duke of Ridgeley was married to the most beautiful woman in all of London. Ginger Hamilton-Northleigh, the Duchess of Ridgeley, although beautiful, was in very fragile health and had been pregnant, the last Heather heard. ‘Where is your wife, sir?’ Cameron’s features hardened. ‘She has run off with her lover — that joke of a French count. The father of the baby I had thought was mine.’ Heather was sorry she had asked. ‘I am sorry, sir. I did not know. Forgive me for asking.’ He smiled again. ‘I think you know why I asked you to dance, Heather.’ ‘No, I’m sure I don’t, your Grace. Perhaps you could elaborate.’ ‘Darling Heather, I have heard of your escapades with the male sex.’ Heather paled. ‘Whatever you have heard is a lie, sir.’ ‘You seem pale, Heather,’ Cameron said, a smile tugging at his mouth. ‘Come now, tell me the truth.’ ‘I am,’ Heather said stubbornly. ‘Or I will have to tell your.

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