“I wouldn’t make this objection,” Mr. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. “Looooo-ceeeeee!!” He yelled, sounding like Desi Arnaz. There is a place—This isn’t the place. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM1LjE5My4xNDYgLSAwMy0wNi0yMDI0IDA2OjQ3OjMxIC0gMTgxOTUwMzMz
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