Wood's at Dollis Hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return, or even of his existence. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it.
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