" "Perhaps not," replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred. ‘For kissing you, or for not meaning to do so?’ ‘Imbecile,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud.
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