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The Apartment #77

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Ten minutes later saw them around the table again, this time their fingers were on an upturned wine glass.
This time there was someone there.
>Who are you?
I speak.
The air in the room became noticeably warmer, closer. No one said anything, but they all became aware of their breathing. And the bands constricting their chests.
>Who would you like to speak to?
Nothing.
>Will you please speak?
The glass lurched with speed across the board. Maya's finger lost touch and she struggled to replace it.
DZ Yes A
>That's meaningless.
No movement.
Sweat glistened above Danes' fading smile.

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