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A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. 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. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay.
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