A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. "How do you know he has any rights to be restored to?" returned Jackson, with a grin. No more. The door opened, and a slightly overweight pretty blonde, an older, wiser version of Michelle, came into view. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat.
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