Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. Brendon told him the name of a distant restaurant and sprang in by her side. She says that everyone in the house makes too much noise, my Dad snores, and that when the house is empty, the traffic noise is nearly deafening. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil.
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