I want to know—just as much as I can. Every moment. Lucy stared like an automaton at Michelle’s unconscious 262 body, revolted at her own actions to the point of shock. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone.
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