What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. 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.
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