Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. For a long time neither spoke again. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “I’m sorry Lucy! I’m sorry to Mike too! You were right, we’re a mismatch! I just don’t want to be lonely!” Lucy hugged Michelle. . ’ ‘But what of justice?’ asked Lucilla, evidently dazed.
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