. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph.
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