She changed into a halter top and a pair of tight jeans herself, and let Lucy brush her long, glossy hair as they talked about mascara, schoolwork, and boys. " "Why, what the devil's this?" vociferated Jonathan, looking up. She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me.
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