Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. "You are a physician; you know the vagaries of men in liquor. ” “No. There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance.
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