Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. “I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. “Tell your sister she was right to shoot, quite right.
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