There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup. ‘For kissing you, or for not meaning to do so?’ ‘Imbecile,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently.
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