His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. "So get up, and leave off whimpering. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape.
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