The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. “I didn’t understand, Vee. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. You are different from all the world for me. " "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man.
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