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Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch. Rhea’s head exploded into a spray of blood, brain, and bone. If you attempt to play the traitor, you will do so at the hazard of your life. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. She answered him almost coldly.
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