She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. "Never, Ma'am!" echoed Mr. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. “Yes, I remember,” she said. Blood, they say, won't come out.
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