1. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. 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. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. "My child!" he groaned faintly. You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. \"I don't eat lunch.
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