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The Apartment #174


Behind Tracey, the slavering continued, interspersed with brutish grunts, the tearing and ripping of flesh and a sense of barely sated brutality that grew with every snort and rip.
But she couldn't see it, so it barely registered. Not like those faces, gorging on the finest foods, laughing hysterically, nodding in unison with each other in vehement agreement. She saw their cheeks bulge as huge forkfuls emptied their cargo into their waiting, gaping holds. She saw sweat shine on forehead and cheek and dribble dabbed away with pristine white napkins. She saw knives slice, jaws crush and tongues savour juices.

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