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She was an awkward bundle of bloodied rags, abandoned in the gutter. Her eyes, the ones that had terror in them before their light was ripped away, were half open, fogged. He listened to the triumphant voice in his head and looked to the thing in his hand. A howl erupted from his throat. He hurled the knife as far from his being as was possible. The ancient baselard clattered, skidded and rested in full view. Moonlight outlined its silver blade, flickering with tempting beauty. Soon another would take it, hold it and listen to the whispers.
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