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” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. Lucy could see the anger in her silhouette, the punishments and the grounding being formulated for the now dead daughter. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. I've taught him all he can do; and there isn't his fellow, and never will be again. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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