Now then. She screamed as she saw that their throats had been ripped out and their dead eyes bulged with horror as their heads lolled from mere strings of sinew and flesh. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears.
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