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It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. "Be it so," replied Jack. Wood. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. 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. “I hope you’re satisfied. Later. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes.
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