" "Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's," cried Jack, brandishing the bar. Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony.
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