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... feather, light as down, with the soft touch of cotton, providing excellent warmth. Eleanor was enveloped in warmth and tenderness, with her back pressed against a chest.
"It’s not a game."
He restrained her struggling limbs and spoke again, his voice hoarse and somber, "Eleanor, you were never a toy. Those four years, every matter you brought up, I admit, but what about the ones you didn’t mention? Have I really not been good to you? Is it that you can’t remember, or dare not thi ...
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