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Brice laughed, and Marcel, while finding his shirt to put on, said, "He's very alert and won't follow strangers—"
He paused halfway through his sentence, as Brice obediently followed me to the door.
"Brice, you..."
I winked at Marcel. "I'm not a stranger."
I'm definitely not a stranger; Brice is a dog I picked up.
I do not look back after the hotel vanishes behind the bend of the coastal road. The Gulf Shores night slides past the …
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