\" \"Wow. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. ” She said. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. ‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful.
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