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... irt and black trousers. He was still in his youthful prime, unbearably handsome. Sitting on the office chair, he held a cigarette between his two slender fingers, and with a hand adorned with a scarlet flame, he pointed at Isabelle Willow, "Come over, sit on my lap."
Isabelle Willow was only barely 19 at the time, nurtured in seclusion. She raised her eyes to look at him, her small hands clutching her skirt, unwilling to move over.
"If you don’t come over, then get out. But I wil ...
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