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... ed her for.
The fuselage was long. The stairs were wide. The interior light coming through the oval windows was warm and deliberate.
"You have a jet," she said.
"Yes."
"I can’t — I’ve never — my entire salary for a year couldn’t—"
"Come."
She walked up the stairs behind him, her hand on the rail, telling herself she was not going to gape when she got to the top.
She gaped.
The forward cabin was — tailored. The kind of space that had ...
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