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Sandy woke with the agony of need coursing through her veins. The pain burned its way through her limbs, her insides, and her brain. It gripped her and shook her and stretched her body taut until she felt there was nothing else to do but snap. Or shoot up. She remembered the syringe. There might still be some left inside. She’d snuck into Old Henderson’s barn and made her bed on a heap of corn cobs, her baby bundled in a blanket beside her, asleep. The syringe would be there