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Until Death Do Us Part (continued)

The blog post below has the beginning of today’s tale.  Please keep in mind that the story is from the early 1980s…

As Janice walked down the corridor, I sort-of elbowed her into an empty office before she reached the elevator. “Please tell me what the heck was going on in there.  My nerves are frayed from you droning on and on and on, ‘I hope you dieI hope you die. I hope you die.’ You must really, really hate that man.” My (now former) client looked at me quite calmly, reverting to the bright, composed woman she was prior to our 90 minute torture session.  “I’m really sorry,” Janice said, reaching out to touch my arm.

“You know, of course, that when all the debts were paid and things were split, I only walked away with $15,000 from the sale of this house. But the judge in my divorce ordered that ex-husband of mine to maintain a $100,000 policy on his life.  So even though I don’t really, really hate him, I HOPE HE DIES!  That’s the only way I come out ahead.”

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