Hillery Clinton visits a fortune-teller.
In a dark and hazy room, peering into a crystal ball, the psychic delivered grave news. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt. Prepare yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a violent and horrible death this year.”
Visibly shaken, the woman stares at the fortuneteller’s lined face, then at the single flickering candle, then down at her hands.
She took a few deep breaths to compose herself.
She simply had to know.
She met the fortuneteller’s gaze, steadied her voice, and asked her question:
“Will I be found guilty?”
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