She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. 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. ” He crossed himself and grinned. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. It’s one of our conventional superstitions.
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