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BOOK 7

Beneath the laughter and whirl of conversation, the faint chime of a clock striking twelve echoed through the marbled halls. The muscles in Rachel’s back twisted with strain, but she ignored the ache, remaining poised as she finished Mrs Phillips’ reading. It would be at least another two hours before Rachel could leave the Donaldsons’ party. Two tedious hours of forcing serene smiles when all she wanted to do was escape to her own home where she could close off the unsettling vibrations dragging her down.

She blinked her dry, stinging eyes against the thick cloud of cigarette smoke hovering above the sea of perfectly coiffed heads. The scents of cigars, perfume and food battled to dominate the air. She tried to focus on the cards, but they repeatedly made a mockery of her ability to interpret them. Little of what she dealt made sense, and what she did understand was too severe for her to relate without upsetting her customers.

As she nodded her goodbye to Mrs Phillips, Rachel reminde
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