So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. 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. It is of no use. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. Thing's upset you a bit. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe.
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