Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. A big breakfast is healthier anyway, so they say. Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. 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.
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