She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. My Mom and Dad were always 184 at work. The two sisters were very fond of one another, I believe.
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