"On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. The door opened, and a slightly overweight pretty blonde, an older, wiser version of Michelle, came into view. Mr. Even now she was dazed.
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