“It is Rhea’s infant. ” Lucy embraced Michelle and pierced her neck with elongated canines, one hand clamped over Michelle’s biting, screaming mouth. Here, it might be anything at all. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. We have so much to be thankful for. I won't have a beachcomber on the island. .
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