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Unformatted text preview: bad it was going to be, Michael reasoned. It was too soon for this man to be really afraid. "I gotta go," Michael said. "It's that simple. What should I know? Where am I headed? What's the latest info we have on Rowan? What are our best leads?" A silence fell. Mona came into the room, a white bow drooping appropriately over her locks, and dressed in a simple white cotton frock, the proper thing for children at a time of death. She shut the door to the hall behind her. She did not speak to anyone, and no one looked at her, and no one seemed to notice or care that she took the leather chair against the far wall, and that she looked across the dusty span of the room at Michael. Michael could not stop for this, and really, it didn't matter. There was nothing going on that Mona didn't know, or couldn't hear. And for that matter, there was this secret between them that was a bond. The child fascinated him as much as she made him feel guilty; she was part and parcel of the excitement of his recovery and what he had to do now. He had not woken up the morning after with the feeling "Wh...
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- Spring '10