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. ‘Move, you. I am certainly no ghost. ’ ‘Then they are soldiers. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. “So you’d best open your coffers. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom.
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