They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. ’ Triumph leapt in Gerald’s chest. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. C.
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