“Who are you?” I ask warily but less belligerently. “My name’s Twill,” says the woman. She’s older. Maybe thirty-five or so. “And this is Bonnie. We’ve run away from District Eight.” District 8! Then they must know about the uprising! “Where’d you get the uniforms?” I ask. “I stole them from the factory,” says Bonnie. “We make them there. Only I thought this one would be for . . . for someone else. That’s why it fits so poorly.” “The gun came from a dead Peacekeeper,” says Twill, following my eyes. “That cracker in your hand. With the bird. What’s that about?” I ask. “Don’t you know, Katniss?”
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