Lucy asked Michelle if “Pfister” kept the bras and panties of misfits for their trophy value, or perhaps sold them on the black market to perverted old men. It was a haunted place. Sebastian was physically beautiful, she reflected. He had chosen his time well. He patted the hand on his sleeve. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified.
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