VICTOR STONE — the dying billionaire, 65. Gaunt, pale, frail; thinning silver-grey hair; a lined, once-powerful face now hollowed by illness. Deep-set grey eyes, glassy with fatigue but suddenly sharp with emotion in the key moment. Wears a fine cream pyjama shirt; propped on white pillows in a large ornate bed. His right hand, thin and veined, is the one that seizes Marina's wrist — unexpected...
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