‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. " And springing backwards, he darted suddenly through the door. 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. " "Not for worlds!" exclaimed both ladies together.
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