“You said a curse is only a curse if I allowed myself to me cursed by it. You said... I had it in my power to free myself of any curse - that curses were preludes to blessings...”

“The curse of men can't make me defiled.I defile myself if I curse men by intention.”

“It’s not the power of the curse, it is the power you give the curse.”

“Any messages for me?" Usually I got one or two, but mostly people who wanted my help preferred to talk in person."Yes. Hold on." She pulled out a handful of pink tickets and recited from memory, without checking the paper. "Seven forty-two a.m., Mr. Gasparian: I curse you. I curse your arms so they wither and die and fall off your body. I curse your eyeballs to explode. I curse your feet to swell until blue. I curse your spine to crack. I curse you. I curse you. I curse you.”

“Cursed?" I offered, my voice croaky because of my unshed tears."It isn't cursed." John said deliberately, rearranging the chain around my neck, "if you're wearing it. It's blessed.”

“Curse him to eternal damnation! Yes! Of course!" came the emotional reply."Don't curse him," I said softly. "Remember--he's only a machine, just an imperfect mirror of ourselves. We made him what he is--the disease, the cancer."There was nothing else to say, because that left only cursing ourselves, and we were already cursed.”