She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. ‘That’s a loud one. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. I hate children. “An Oracle is a vampire, of course. And a broken picture that was torn when I hit him with it.
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