A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. “But, forgive me, you are tired. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear. ” She slipped it on her finger, and added, in a voice she tried to make matter-of-fact: “It was given to me last week. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect.
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