And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?.
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