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citrato de sildenafila bula Congo turns out to be one of them. Behind his cheerful exterior lurks a troubled soul. He is plagued by nightmares about certain people he killed with his wire-loop device. He even claims to feel empathy for his victims after playing a victim in one of the film’s grisly re-enactments. Yet he doesn’t feel guiltâÂÂhere’s the edifying partâÂÂso much as narcissistic distress. The only victims who give him nightmares are the ones whose eyes he failed to close after lopping off their heads. They’re still looking at him, and accusing him, in his dreams. After all these decades and all these deaths, he still sees himself as a victim. What sort of species are we, then? The movie’s answer is very variable.
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