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Buried Betrayal on Eight Hundred Acres 34

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scrubbing in with frantic speed. A nurse ties a sterile gown around his broad back. He snaps his gloves on, his jaw set so tight the muscles twitch. He does not look like the untouchable king of St. Raphael right now. He looks like a man standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff.

“Cecilia,” he says.

His voice cuts through the beeping machinery. It sounds continue reading …

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