‘Seems to me, missie, as you’re as dangerous a female as I’m like to see. Do you have a car?” She asked. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. Now, he must have folks somewhere. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. I did not reckon upon—him. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her.
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