Thanks, Ms Wilding.’She raised one eyebrow. ‘Who?’ ‘You must be Tom’s daughter, the photographer. You look like him. A prettier version, sexy, even.’ His laugh was a smoky rumble as he spun on his heel. ‘Don’t presume to know anything about me, Mr Lawson.’He hefted his pack and strode away, power in the length of stride.
-Helene Young
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