Do not read this. I assure you, I am not the sort of woman that anyone likes, and you will not like me. The fact that he likes me, it should be a sign to you, in fact. He is Mr. Marlow, and there is something wrong with him. I couldn't say what it is exactly. He doesn't outwardly present as deformed, not truly, but he seems that way somehow. The edges of him squirm and expand. He is shadows and barbs and coils and teeth. He...