"Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. He began to tell me something—and stopped. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed.
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