Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. Another picture slid across her vision. Jack attacked Jonathan with such fury, that he drove him into a shrubbery, and might perhaps have come off the victor, if his foot had not slipped as he made a desperate lunge.
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