"It's as if a child with a brush and too much enthusiasm has been set free with a tin of black paint inside me."

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Then he kissed her, not just a brush of lips as she'd done, but a kiss a kiss that scalded her tongue. The tree burst into full blooms. The garden fluttered around her. A riot of flowers shot out of the earth. She was mud-covered as he pulled back.

— Melissa Marr