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... t Charlotte Lane’s retreating figure, standing alone in the cold wind.

For a moment, his fingers touched his side.

The tears on his fingertips had long dried, but he still felt a post-warmth there.

He sighed softly, touched the slapped face, and murmured, “Edward Kirsten, how can you bear it?”

When Charlotte returned, she entered the living room and bumped into Alice Eugene.

Alice immediately noticed the red mark on her neck, clearly made by a hand grip. < ...

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