Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. The will to live had returned. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. "The lash cuts to the bone. ’ The old man simply stared at her.
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