he slid her across the leather to trap her against the arm of the sectional . and i have wondered often , was i master in my soul , or did i become the slave of my own blade ? i barely caught what she had said . this is beginning to look like a much bigger problem than we originally thought . he turned from me and scanned the house , his eyes resting on a gardener who was out trimming some hedges . you guys ... what kind of stuff do you write ? 