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Why is it, he wondered, that you only learn the specifics of the conflicts within your own family when you are grown and it is too late to avoid having been influenced by them unawares? Why only after you have metabolized them and made them part of your whole way of looking at the world?
“Please, do not be afraid,” he said, then severed my father’s head. “That’s my father,” I managed. “Not anymore,” he said, and then made quick work of my mother as well.
