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My father was murdered just as you say. But all the while I was kept sequestered, despised, accounted a worthless thing.  Kennelled in my room as if I were a vicious cur, I gave free vent to my streaming tears, which came more readily than laughter, as in my concealment I poured out my lament in plentiful weeping. Hear my tale and inscribe it on your heart. 
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