His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. Rhea’s head exploded into a spray of blood, brain, and bone. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. McClintock was amused.
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