“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents. \" Michelle sighed. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
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