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"I want a draw at thy fag," she cried, snatching for the cigarette between his lips. He was sitting with his shoulder touching her. She was small and quick as lightning. He just escaped. "I'll gi'e thee a smoke kiss," he said. "Tha'rt a knivey nuisance, Arty Morel," she said, sitting back. "Ha'e a smoke kiss?" The soldier leaned forward to her, smiling. His face was near hers.
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