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Her voice was weak and flat. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ‘Must be another of her lies. It seemed that within an instant the Pestilence struck, and she begged me on her deathbed to shelter you and her grandson for the rest of your lives, as she could see that even though I was a ‘demon fiend’ and ‘minor devil’ that I loved you. " "Do not distress him, dear father," said Winifred; "he suffers deeply. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died.
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