“Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. She screamed as she saw that their throats had been ripped out and their dead eyes bulged with horror as their heads lolled from mere strings of sinew and flesh. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest.
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