They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. ” “Anna!” “It is true, dear. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm. I know less about this affair perhaps than you suppose. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. " And he strode out of the place. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. \" He said.
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