Montague Hill. 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. She still kicked herself for it. “I am sorry that I have murdered you. The door opened. There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them.
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