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r taste of cheap whiskey, and the image of a newspaper: a glossy photo of my e
winter air as I died with the
, Susan, both lying in fresh graves, victims
mpty promises, while they withered away fro
the money came too late; my mother starved
, but to accuse, to divorce, and to flaunt he
ragged gasp t
plintered floorboards of my own bedroom,
Susan, frail but breathing, and Leo, flush
endar confirmed it: three
th a cold, hard rage, i
re si
re wa
e steady, "We' re leaving.
his time, I wouldn' t just s
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