Maybe it’s his loss. But in the appendix of the dictionary she had discovered magic names—Hugo, Dumas, Thackeray, Hawthorne, Lytton. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “You haven’t told a lot of people in school that I’m a vampire, have you?” Lucy asked Michelle in earnest.
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