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“Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. This too shall pass. The man is a stranger to me. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. And then her pace slackened. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food.
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