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“She flew past me, exiting the house as if she didn't smell the scent of a dead man lingering over me, as if she didn't hear the screams that were trying to flee from my gut, as if she didn't see the blood that painted my hands.” — Arti Manani
She flew past me, exiting the house as if she didn't smell the scent of a dead man lingering over me, as if she didn't hear the screams that were trying to flee from my gut, as if she didn't see the blood that painted my hands.