
Doctor Nolan Quincy is like coffee: with charred blackness of his soul and fascinatingly sweet devotion, he raises subliminal concerns.
He had the best intentions to help her; he still does, albeit iniquitously, and is of a matter of personal preference.
Those in his way are picked off one by one like rotten fruits.
Perhaps he had gone too far and loved her too much.
Is he controlling her, or is he the one wrapped around her little delicate fingers?
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