An Antartian woman visited a psychic of some local repute.
In a dark and hazy room, peering into a crystal ball, the mystic 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 Antartian stared at the woman'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 fortune teller's gaze, steadied her voice, and asked:
"Will I be acquitted?"
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