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As soon as he realized someone was there, he cried out, ''Hey!" |
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The motionless form did not respond. Mike called out again while scrambling the rest of the way up the hill, his eyes fastened on the female figure. "Hey, lady," he yelled in concern, but she did not stir. As he reached her, gasping for breath, he understood why he had not seen her sooner, for her beige skirt and golden brown hair blended into the earth tones all around. Her eyes were closed; her long, thick lashes feathered over her cheeks. She was slumped to one sideand she was as pale and still as death. |
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Mike touched the woman's face. Her skin was warmwas it from the heat of the desert, or from her own inner warmth? Her full lips appeared split and parched. Her face was unburned, but an old-fashioned bonnet lying on the ground beside her explained why. |
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Old-fashionedthat described the rest of her clothing as well: her laced boots, her long, high-necked dress. She looked like a refugee from the sixties in her granny gown. Maybe she was from some strange religious cult. But Mike did not have time to speculate further. He felt her neck; fortunately her pulse was strong. |
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"Miss?" he said, pulling off his backpack and sitting on the ground beside her. He patted her soft cheek. "Can you hear me?" |
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"Miss," Mike said again, cradling her limp body in his arms. "Wake up. Please." |
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The eyelids, with those lovely, thick lashes, |
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