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" His hands touched her cheeks, slid into her hair. He always touched her like she was special, like she was precious to him, and for the first time she thought maybe she could believe that she was. His body under her palms, her fingers—his hair, his face, the breadth of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his back and arms and chest—she didn’t ever want to stop touching them. It felt like if she stopped, her hands themselves would start to cry. "
― Stacia Kane , Sacrificial Magic (Downside Ghosts, #4)