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. She had never been so happy to vomit. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. ‘The old man who lives here, idiot. He flipped the television off. On the appearance of the thief-taker, Mrs. ‘French? But what else?’ ‘I do not like Frenchmen,’ Melusine snapped.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM5LjEwOC4yMiAtIDI4LTA2LTIwMjQgMDA6MTg6MjMgLSAyMDkxMDcyMDYz
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