She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. ” Ennison laughed softly. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. “Great, Cathy. Damn! I’ve splashed.
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