“Do something!” But he laid by his prey, half-watching the fight, gorging on the woman he had caught that had been meant for Rhea and her child. I think not, Annabel. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites.
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