She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. Lucy turned and faced the strawberry blonde behind her, gesturing rapidly with a folded origami triangle, evidently the newest form of note. We’ll find a way to survive.
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