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... into my hands before I could protest, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “You have to see her, Elodie! Number 38! The red racing suit! She’s insane, gorgeous and wild and just... perfect!”
I didn’t want to look. I didn’t care about racing, didn’t care about whoever this woman was that had York acting like he’d found religion. But he was staring at me with so much excitement, so much hope that I’d understand, that I couldn’t say no.
I lifted the binoculars to my eyes ...
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