Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. Wood's," was the reply.
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