He turned, expecting to see his wife. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. “Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off.
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