The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. 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. . ’ Gerald was relieved to hear the loud guffaw issuing from the old man’s lips.
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