Lucy clapped a hand over Michelle’s mouth and struck her neck with a swift blow to the carotid artery. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. She has already forgotten it. I saw the blood come as he rolled over. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks.
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