I'm no great judge of these articles, Ma'am; but I trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me. It was as if he could smell it on her. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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