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<blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2170585" data-attributes="member: 26473"><p>Slocum is true to his word: after a little more than twenty minutes, he turns off the main road onto a side road – the headlights briefly illuminate a sign which reads, “Smugglers Cove Road.” A couple of minutes later the Range Rover pulls up to a tall wrought-iron gate, which the attorney opens with a remote. The driveway winds through dense growth of firs and madronas before ending in front of a breathtaking house, a Northwest Contemporary harmony of wood and stone and glass.</p><p></p><p>Slocum stops the SUV in the <em>port cochere</em> before the door to the main house and turns to all of you.<span style="color: teal"> “Go ahead on in. Your bags will be taken to the guest house for you.”</span></p><p></p><p>The double-doors at the front of the house are unlocked. Through the foyer is the living room, dominated by a great stone fireplace; a fire is burning brightly. Surrounding the fireplace are two overstuffed couches and a pair of high-backed chairs. To one side are a small table and four chairs. The far wall is not a wall at all, but rather a series of wood-and-glass doors that look out onto a flagstone patio. To the right is a dining area – through a doorway to the left is a darkened room.</p><p></p><p>As you walk into the room, a man rises from one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. He’s of average height and his lean build is clearly that of someone who exercises regularly. His dark hair is neatly trimmed, his youthful face clean-shaven. A cluster of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are the only suggestion that the man is well into his thirties. He’s wearing grey slacks and a pale blue dress shirt open at the collar – a matching suit coat and maroon patterned tie lie draped over an arm of one of the couches.</p><p></p><p>He sets down a sheaf of papers on the chair and walks toward you. <span style="color: teal">“Good evening. I’m Dr. Peter Martin. Thanks for coming. I hope the trip out here wasn’t too rough.”</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The Shaman, post: 2170585, member: 26473"] Slocum is true to his word: after a little more than twenty minutes, he turns off the main road onto a side road – the headlights briefly illuminate a sign which reads, “Smugglers Cove Road.” A couple of minutes later the Range Rover pulls up to a tall wrought-iron gate, which the attorney opens with a remote. The driveway winds through dense growth of firs and madronas before ending in front of a breathtaking house, a Northwest Contemporary harmony of wood and stone and glass. Slocum stops the SUV in the [i]port cochere[/i] before the door to the main house and turns to all of you.[color=teal] “Go ahead on in. Your bags will be taken to the guest house for you.”[/color] The double-doors at the front of the house are unlocked. Through the foyer is the living room, dominated by a great stone fireplace; a fire is burning brightly. Surrounding the fireplace are two overstuffed couches and a pair of high-backed chairs. To one side are a small table and four chairs. The far wall is not a wall at all, but rather a series of wood-and-glass doors that look out onto a flagstone patio. To the right is a dining area – through a doorway to the left is a darkened room. As you walk into the room, a man rises from one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fireplace. He’s of average height and his lean build is clearly that of someone who exercises regularly. His dark hair is neatly trimmed, his youthful face clean-shaven. A cluster of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are the only suggestion that the man is well into his thirties. He’s wearing grey slacks and a pale blue dress shirt open at the collar – a matching suit coat and maroon patterned tie lie draped over an arm of one of the couches. He sets down a sheaf of papers on the chair and walks toward you. [color=teal]“Good evening. I’m Dr. Peter Martin. Thanks for coming. I hope the trip out here wasn’t too rough.”[/color] [/QUOTE]
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