She feasted reluctantly, partly out of wonder at the new function of her often elongated canines. “I’m sorry Lucy! I’m sorry to Mike too! You were right, we’re a mismatch! I just don’t want to be lonely!” Lucy hugged Michelle. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done.
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