"I don't know. . . Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch.
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