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In the dim light of dawn, the villagers could
hear a yowling lament coming from the castle. It was the queen, they said, on
their way to the fields. Hell has no fury like a woman scorned. So she
waited. She waited in silence for years, uncomplainingly in silence,
while the king bedded his harlots. One dawn, while the castle was still sleeping, the
villagers heard a horrid scream. They thought “The King is dead. Long live the
King.” The Queen yowled no more and said “The King is dead. I killed the King.”
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