Every word you utter puzzles me. She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. She disengaged her hands and stood up. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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