Sheppard. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white.
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