Their small talk continued. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. She turned out the electric light and gained the hall.
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