" Another pause. "Look, I know I'm right for you, even if you don't believe it. I'm coming to Sharpsburg. I got your address from Emma... Don't be mad...at her."Why would I be mad at her? She'd given him the phone number too, because she thought she was doing me a favor. Bitch. I sat on the edge of the bed, blinking back hot tears, and listened to the end of the recording."I'm not a stalker, Beth. You know that. When I get there and you see me, if you really want me to go I will. I'll leave and. I realize that thisjournal will not be read by anyone in my lifetime, but I hope that insetting down my true story in print, some good may come of it in theyears to come long after I shuffle off this mortal coil.1My early life was much like that illustrated by Mr Dickens fine words.Life was very harsh in the branch workhouse. I was a thin and scrawnychild, much like the twenty-three other undernourished souls in that Godforsaken place. The food on the table was not fit for pigs, let alonepoor,. More

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