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The Apartment #117

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Inside was calm stillness. The sun flooded the room with light and, contradicting the winter temperatures outside, infused a gentle warmth. Maya had stopped trembling, Harry smiled again, and colour had returned to all their faces. Their eyes had, for the moment at least, lost that frightened, furtive look.
Outside, afternoon traffic buzzed through crisp, clear air. People shopped, walked home or wandered: singly, hand-holding couples, small groups. Workers peered out of office windows; taxis hailed and delivered. Somewhere a dog barked.
Icicles melted. Drip by silent drip.
The sky was unblemished. Blue; like an ever-watchful eye, unblinking.

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