The Man Beneath My Window
- LETTURE 30
- Voti 2
- Parti 3
I see him every night. Beneath my window. With a cigar in his hand, he stands with cold black eyes veiled by grey smoke staring straight at me. I'm helpless when I look down at him. Is it because I'm terrified of him like a sane woman is supposed to be? Or is there a far more bizarre reason hidden beneath my trembling heart?
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