Page 309 - Anonymous
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and small enough to not likely be seen. I
decide to take it. I try to calm my
breaths, making sure not to make a
sound. From my vantage point, I can see
the door to the bedroom and the
bathroom. Cohen enters the room, runs
his hand through his salt-and-pepper
hair. You don't look a day older, do
you, Cohen Finley? He starts to
unbutton his shirt, slowly slipping the soft
blue material off his shoulders, and I
