"To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. Lucy propped Michelle against a thick, knobby tree stump. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. She kicked him in the shin, trying to knock him off his feet. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point.
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