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“Her heart hammered, her head pounded. Part of her felt like maybe she could outrun it – the monster that stole her mother. She ran, the thumping of her feet her only anchor. She thought she might rise up and explode, like a big greasy soap bubble. If only I could.” — Sara Pascoe
Her heart hammered, her head pounded. Part of her felt like maybe she could outrun it – the monster that stole her mother. She ran, the thumping of her feet her only anchor. She thought she
might rise up and explode, like a big greasy soap bubble.
If only I could.