‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. His smile faded. Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur. ‘There is no question of a dispute.
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