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I didn't know how to voice my anger then. But you deserved it - my spitting, biting, venomous fury - for the promises made and never kept, the rent gone to the greyhounds, the groceries gone to the bar tab, the bleeding welts for whatever rage you couldn't vent except on us, and the legacy of booze and drugs left to my now dead half siblings. You are one of the many reasons there is no God.
— Linda Dobbyn
