#69930 - Sophie lay dead on her back on the bed, serene face turned upward toward the ceiling, eyes closed, white-shod toes also pointing upward. He lined up the long steel needle under the Duchess' navel, then thrust smoothly, the trochar piercing the tender flesh and stabbing deeply into her soft dead organs. As he stepped back and rendered a crisp, perfect parade-ground salute to the casketed bodies, he heard the guards coming back from their break.
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