She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. "Good night. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. \" It was a lie: Lucy ate one forced meal a day, supper. " With this, she burst into tears, and sank with her face upon his shoulder. Here you only waste your time.
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