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Proserpina

“Strike here,” and Proserpina taps the first two knuckles of her fist, “even if you’re wearing gloves. Keep your off hand a little farther out, to act as a guard; that gives your better arm more extension distance, and that makes it more powerful. And for heaven’s sake don’t swing like that. Draw back a little, then uncurl your fist so it ends up straight–see?”

“Who taught you all this?” pants Radiane.

“A friend. Named Tom.”

“And why do you think you need it? To beat up girls in the lunchroom?”

“As if I’ll need to,” smirks Proserpina, “after you.”

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