‘Not from the nuns, no. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. She kicked both of her legs with the force of a bull, sending a blow into Rhea’s borrowed legs. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. The boy she had loved was gone.
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