Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. That’s where you go wrong.
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