Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “You are absurd,” she declared. “Because I hate you!” She spat.
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