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'These love letters to you, pink, prissy, slathered in bile – confessions of the underworld, in many ways – have acted as truths which I hold myself to. If the written word is there for all to see, I feel beholden to it, bonded. What I fear most, now, is that all that progress I’ve made, all those steps taken, babe, are slowly slipping back into the abyss.'
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