‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. She stabbed him with her canines. “You see the pointer?” he asked.
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