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The door to the room was wedged open, the bottle smashed into shards on the floor, and the chair empty. The wine seeped slowly down to the carpet and slid silently beneath the cracks in the patterns, it gave no secrets away. The cigarette smoke drifted indifferently towards the yellowed ceiling, escaping from lips that would not tell. The strange look in the cat’s eyes caught the light reflected, and mirrored the form of a figure that clearly wished to remain anonymous. The tweet later that evening was succinct: “There must be ninety nine ways to leave your lover”.
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