Summary
Uršula Kovalyk: A pure beast
Today, Death entered the two hundred and six with me. She sat across from me with her ankles crossed in burgundy and a woolen cardigan. It was immediately clear to me who this woman was. Even though it was thirty-five degrees outside and the asphalt was melting, she didn't even untie her shoes. I stared at her face in horror. Death does not only travel by public city transport. The door bell rang and the tram left the Kramare station. I have to admit she looked great. Black mohair hat, face as if it had been painted by Modigliani, except for the eyes - cold and blue, just like the huskies next door. She smiled at me. Mysterious.
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