Our souls are dead

Our souls are dead

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Nothing that any one writes will suffice. Our words are dead today. They ring hollow. Our souls are dead today. As the funerals take place across the city, as the walls of homes shake and wail and absorb the pain of mothers, fathers, daughters, brothers, sisters, and friends, as the earth cries at what is being put in to it, as each step of family members without their children or with injured children, is filled with heaviness, as Lady Reading Hospital, that ever busy, efficient institution, so accustomed to patients of brutal violence continues to function — patients in, patients

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