A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. “It was inevitable,” he declared. ” He faced her doggedly.
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