Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. "Austin will stare," thought Jack, "when he comes here in the morning. You can, too, if you wish. She no longer felt sick or dizzy, her muscles returned to a relaxed, supple state.
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