Mr. Are you all here?” “Five boxes full,” she answered. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. He was a philosopher.
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