\"How's it going, Lucy?\" She turned. ’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. She colored faintly. Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites.
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