9. "Mrs. \" Michelle met her at her locker, right on schedule, carrying a backpack so overstuffed it was its own conversation piece. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. ’ Colour suffused the man’s face. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded.
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