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The Journals of Barnabas Collins

When a gentleman makes his wedding day agenda, there are certain things to avoid.  A deceased uncle attempting to bury the bride alive.  Said bride dressed as your own grandmother.  A gibbering dullard of a minister who insists on bringing up every painful family impasse.  An absent father.  Furniture moving of its own accord.  A truly bizarre reverse-transubstantiation of the wedding wine.  And a best man whose aroma is actually improved by the essence of bat feces clinging to his lapel.  (That was the high point, and that’s no dissimulation.)

Perhaps the pinnacle of the day was the appearance of Josette’s music box in Angelique’s hands.

In truth, my heart brimmed with sincerity as I gazed upon that strong, wise, and charmingly defiant young woman who stood before me and accepted the ring.  However, my passions were cooled by the associated elements of the evening. Given all else that has…

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