The Bitchster strikes again. When any violent outrage was committed,—and such matters were of daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence,—a bell, the rope of which descended into the hall, brought the whole of the turnkeys to their assistance. Michelle pulled a Kleenex out of a Pocket Pack and blew her nose. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her.
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