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“For your father,” Eleanor announced, when Maya asked about it. Her voice carried. “In memory.”
Charles stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor. “You’re giving her control ? Mother, I’ve run the business for fifteen years—”
Eleanor’s smile, this time, was not a performance.
And she thought of Margaret, buried in name only, waiting sixty years to be remembered.
“You came,” Patricia said, voice low. “I told you not to.”
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© 1999-2008 General Automated Packaging Services, Inc. (GAP Services).
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