Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. “You fill me with happiness, John. “He’d better treat you right this time or I’ll pulverize him, you hear?” Lucy gave in to the hug. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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