During a recent publicity outing, Hillary sneaked off to visit a
fortune teller of some local repute. In a dark and hazy room, peering
into a crystal ball, the mystic delivered grave news.
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt: Prepare
yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a violent and horrible
death this year.”
Visibly shaken, Hillary stared at the woman’s lined face, then at the
single flickering candle, then down at her hands. She took a few deep
breaths to compose herself. She simply had to know. She met the fortune
teller’s gaze, steadied her voice, and asked her question.
“Will I be acquitted?”
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