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“You’re very fond of him.” The woman sounded genuinely surprised. Isla, still scratching her face as the magic subsided, suffered a sudden flare of temper: the sort that often follows pain.
“Of course I am! He’s my dad!”
“Yes. But still.” The woman looked around pointedly, as if to say girls who love their dads don’t recreationally ride the grab-ass train. Which just showed she knew fuck-all about Isla or her dad, whether she had been poking around in Isla’s mind or not.
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chp. 1