She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. She was a schizophrenic, got locked up later in some sort of state mental ward. Suspicion was in his face.
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