" Mr. "But it is much to me. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. " "From whom?" vociferated Trenchard. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any.
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