They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. 155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. Chairs were overturned. He would come swiftly to her aid, she knew it. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. They don’t know who did it, actually.
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