Rhea’s head exploded into a spray of blood, brain, and bone. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. I'll remember that. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. “You look nice today, Lucy.
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