"What's the matter?" he cried. It was perfectly logical. “Fighting goes with loads of its own baggage, John. I was born on an island in the South Seas. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. She felt her own body stir, ready for more. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel.
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