She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. “Are we cool?” Michelle asked her. " "That is your fault, none of mine. Ovarian cancer. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. "I must go. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style.
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