’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. The boy’s besotted. " "I should be unafraid to go anywhere with you. C below.
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