“I detest amateurs. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. ” The girl received this intimation in silence, but the face that looked down upon the gas fire took an expression of obstinacy that brought out a hitherto latent resemblance between parent and child.
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