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I find a folded note in the drawer of my desk: He knows. Run. Emily Turner, could you check the catalogue
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**Diary Entry 12th November** “Youre in the way,” my sister said, and then she stopped answering my calls.
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The banquet that night was the last I ever set before my kin. I still recall it as if the candles were
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“They’re not the same age any more,” a man in a crisp suit said to me once, his eyes








