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Emotional Outbursts, Issue 25
Seventeen-ninety-one, the earliest date I can trace in our English ancestral line. Beyond that year, dear reader, all information ceases to exist. We must come from somewhere. I think about the Dark Ages. I imagine a girl of mine own age in squalor and strife. What would she have looked like? Where would she have lived? How did she survive, through all of it, for me to now sit here in silence, and write this letter to you?
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