“Could be you’re wrong,” she said. “Could be? Could be I am,” I said,
“but so many times, I have been right—
those people are all dead.”
“They should have listened then,” said
she.
“They should have, yes,” said I,
“but that’s people for you once again,”
I said and breathed a sigh.
“Don’t fret so, Nostradamus, dear,” said
she in tones so biting,
“It’s not your fault the silly fools can’t
read your bloody writing.”
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