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“Evening,” Gareth said, his voice as dry as dust. A silver cross dangled from his ear, catching the light as it swung. His black fingernails tapped the edge of the doorframe in an unnervingly rhythmic fashion. “You’ve got imps.” — Michelle Rae Lee
Evening,” Gareth said, his voice as dry as dust. A silver cross dangled from his ear, catching the light as it swung. His black fingernails tapped the edge of the doorframe in an unnervingly rhythmic fashion. “You’ve got imps.