’ ‘No, miss,’ cut in Kimble. . I’m not a psycho. . ” He bent and kissed her hair and paused, and then forced his attention back to the map. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.
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