He flipped the television on. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. ‘Pig! Pig, a thousand times!’ Running footsteps could be heard now, and she knew that the commotion was bringing the nuns, just as she had hoped. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace.
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