Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. "It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously. Jackson’s. .
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