The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. It was everyone's favorite meal. Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven.
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