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Convergence: Except I Loved Her Once, 4
(London: Sunday, just before dawn, September 30, 1888)
The aftermath is what I mostly dread,
far more than any comments that are said
about, or to, me. From our warm, large bed
she leaves, with a last kiss. Why she is led
back to Whitechapel and that soul-less bastard
by whom she is abused---exploited---mastered---
I do not know. Soon, dawn will be adorning
these early hours as I begin my mourning.
Starward
