. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. That blow made me a thief.
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