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It is easy to let go of the string and think: This isn’t me, it’s the arrow. My hands do not bear the blood of this boy, it’s the arrow that killed him, not me. But the arrow does not dream at night.
It is easy to let go of the string and think: This isn’t me, it’s the arrow. My hands do not bear the blood of this boy, it’s the arrow that killed him, not me. But the arrow does not dream at night.
