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... the worst nightmare I had endured, I would not speak of death, nor of grief, nor even of betrayal.
I would say these words: nothing—nothing whatever could match the madness of throwing myself over a tall iron gate while a mob of the dead came pounding at it, their foul bodies scraping, clawing, twisting, and groaning in unison.
Their screams were not screams of hunger alone; they were the wracked cries of something much more basic. It was as if hell itself had yawned open and rel ...
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