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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. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into
being. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in
search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking
someone who you were. What I said about your brat was all stuff. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a
pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for
that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in
her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her
complexion. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up
to and down from it. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in
the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case
under his arm. Not us. You have friends, acquaintances, social standing,
brothers and sisters, every advantage! Instead of which, you want to go to some
mixed classes or other and cut up rabbits and dance about at nights in wild
costumes with casual art student friends and God knows who.
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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 03-07-2024 13:37:59