‘Never. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. Inside was the blue stone she had lost in the 1800’s. She felt he would tell people the way, control traffic, and refuse admission to public buildings with invincible correctness and the very finest explicit feelings possible. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. I won't dig their graves with my nails.
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