If a doctor had been present, perhaps he would have been able to stop the haemorrhaging that took Penelope's life, while she shrieked and scratched at the locked door, on the other side of which her father wept in silence and her mother cowered, staring at her husband. (...) When at last they opened the door and found Penelope lying dead in a pool of her own blood, hugging a shining, purple-coloured baby, nobody was capable of uttering a single word.
from the book "" by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
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