A long time ago, there was an old woman in a dark and cramped room.
She sat on the only seat with her legs crossed, her eyes drooped, and she smoked her pipe greedily, with an expression of enjoying the shredded tobacco on her streaked face.
After a long time, she opened her eyes, and her loose eyelids still covered most of her cloudy eyeballs.
She tapped the handle of the chair with her pipe, and grinned lazily at the young woman opposite:
You will always live in killing and never have peace.
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