She found an old drunk wandering the streets. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. “Where am I?” he muttered. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger. "Who's there?" cried Rachel.
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