Relief flooded her. Too close, he reasoned, for safety. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. "You mustn't talk any more; the excitement isn't good for you.
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