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The old jealousy was there no doubt, the old smoldering envy that, through the years, had only slumbered and never, never really died.
She may be your own sister, honey, your own flesh and blood, but you’ve got to face it, deep down inside she hates you like poison and nothing would please her more than to see you get it right in the neck.
But Jane was her own sister, the only person she had, really, in the whole world.
