” She smiled at him cheerfully. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery. She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. 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.
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