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... lampshade, dimming the room. She, too, was dim, downhearted and dispirited, her voice weak and languid.
Cillian Grant’s gaze was gloomy as he lifted her chin. Her eyes showed no tears, her cheeks dry, unlike someone who had cried.
She was indeed stronger than others, open-minded, resilient.
He was silent for a moment, then finally softened his tone, "I’m not interrogating you. Say whatever you want."
Eleanor looked into his deep, sincere black eyes.
For a ...
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