Joyce slowly walked up to Charlotte, her voice calm and soft.
She looked down at Charlotte from above, a quiet smile blossoming on her lips.
"Do you have any wet wipes?" She reached out, asking Luther.
She knew Luther had a serious cleanliness problem now and could not stand other women touching him.
She's seen a few times where office personnel have accidentally touched him and he's had to wipe up with a wet paper towel for a long time afterwards.
She also knew in her heart that he made an exception for her. Or maybe it had something to do with her that he had developed such a serious cleanliness problem.
So, he usually carried it with him.
Sure enough, Luther took the wet wipes he carried from inside his coat pocket and handed them to Joyce.
Joyce took it and removed the wet wipes.
In front of Charlotte, she slowly and methodically wiped her beloved pistol, carefully, inside and out.
Just now her pistol, which was touched by Charlotte, so it was too dirty.
After wiping it clean, she pinned the pistol back to her waist.
Wiping his hands clean again, he then discarded the wet paper towel on the floor.
Charlotte's limbs continued to gurgle blood, when the pain was so extreme that she could no longer feel the pain.
She was left hanging with her last breath, her face twisted like a ghost, questioning with all her might, "You ... lied to me ..."
Luther squatted in front of Charlotte, looking disgusted and disdainful, "Joke, all this time, it's been you who's been lying. Why can't we lie to you? What? How does it feel to be lied to? Isn't it infuriating?"
He was deceived by Charlotte, and he dreamed of killing Charlotte himself to vent his anger.
However, he wanted to leave the opportunity to Joyce.
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