One morning my sister fiction laborlaw

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One morning my sister and laborlaw my brother-in-law were breakfasting on the porch. It was a beautiful day, the acacia was covered with flowers. A car drew up outside the garden gate. A man with his face exposed produced a gun. Tac-a-tac- a-tac-a-tac. He fired at the couple. He hit the husband right in the head and missed my sister, but it was too laborlaw late to try again. The car peeled off, and Anne was left sitting there as if turned to stone, splashed with her husband's blood. My brother-in-law never had time to go and die of cold on the steppes of Russia or to join the Milice paramilitaries, as he certainly would have done had he lived. The head of I forget what local faction delivered an address at the funeral.
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