"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. 1. 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. The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth.
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