" "Robbed him!" screamed the widow. ” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. "No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. ” Miss Stanley turned to her. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. He flipped the television off. When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. The chance had gone. "Where did you find it!" asked Wood.
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