Elan wanted to wash his hands. He could feel the blood and dirt beneath his nails and all he could think of was removing it. The dirt and blood covered him up to his elbows, and his jeans were stained. He walked as if a puppet, eyes staring forward unseeingly
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In Shelley's case, that was a cup of tea, now spilling across the kitchen floor as she stares through the doorway at her unwanted and bloodstained houseguest.
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"The kittens I had been feeding were killed by a dog."
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Tea trickles sadly against the sole of her shoe.
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