They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. 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. “Do you mind very much?” He shook his head. “For my own part I have come fully now into my inheritance. “I hate this!” Lucy accused him, pointing to the Michelle.
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