Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Michelle winked at her and left to join the gathering of seats in the center of the theater. ‘You have every right to be angry with me. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. .
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