Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. . Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. “I think she would,” she decided. “Delicious!” she murmured.
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