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She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. Emile’s fist crashed into her temple and stars exploded in her vision. She wished that he would go further as she performed fellatio upon him. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. Sometimes I take innocent lives. “Your name, I believe, is——” “Pellissier,” Anna answered. . E.
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