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There was something unique about Luo Xiaolang’s voice; it wasn’t as gentle, as sharp, or as smooth as most girls’. It was slightly deep and a little hoarse.
It was unmistakably feminine; it was just distinct.
This distinct voice, Yin Qin thought, might become an indelible mark that haunts him for the rest of his life.
He stood rooted at the door.
Staring at Luo Xiaolang, watching her calmly utter these words as though it was a casual topic, a trivial chit-ch ...
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