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137 The living conditions of her kills were often so sordid that she would spend hours washing them off of her, and August brought her to the Greene River once again, scrubbing the stink from her hair with Ivory Liquid Dishwashing Detergent. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. He's nice. She let out a wail.
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