Delilah’s neck pulls back, a fishing line reeled in, examining her plate. She shoves the dumpling into her mouth, the round form rolling down her throat. Then she plants both hands on the edge of the table, lifts it up, and slides the entire feast into her mouth. All of the bowls and plates rush toward her gaping mouth, disappearing into its dark chasm. She crunches down on porcelain and candles and meat knives and napkins. Harvey raises his hands and slides his chair back as if afraid she’ll inhale his fingers too. All around them the other ghosts murmur, the kitchen cabinets shuddering open
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