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- “You guys did great today,” said Patrick. “You must be exhausted.”
- “Um-hm,” I mumbled, picking up a white ball of millet paste. Dipped in the peanut–goat stew sauce, it was about a three on the Max Culinary Scale — above roasted desert rat or lizard-on-a-stick, but well below, say, a steak.
- Roger, the nurse, handed Iggy a small dented bowl. “Dried fish, mixed with … stuff. Try it.”
- We ate everything we could get our hands on. Living on the streets had beaten any pickiness out of us. Plus, we burn calories like a race car burns fuel, and we just couldn’t afford to not eat — whatever it was.
- - Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel, chapter 8
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