And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Dolby smiled. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. P. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. She spoke slowly.
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