Before there is any change, any real change, I shall be dead—dead—dead and finished—two hundred years!. You are the one person I can understand and feel—feel right with. I want to but I cannot! Please accept that!” She yelled. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. All right! I’m off.
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