‘Not but what it was near that before Jarvis died. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. 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.
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