It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. . The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. I was rude and stupid.
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