In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend.
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