Scrooge watched as the third of the ghost materialized in the middle of the potters field near his home. Even before the ghost had full formed he began begging and pleading.
“No, No, No not here, not me, don’t let it end this way, I will keep Christmas.”
The ghost slapped him.
“What?”
The ghost pointed.
Scrooge’s eyes followed the ghosts pointing finger to the rich court yard across from the grave yard.
“There am I to live there?”
Later the first ghost grilled him. “You told him what? How could you?”
“I hate for people to die without hope.”
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