It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. It was neither good nor bad. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. Unmindful of the terrors of the night, unscared by the danger that threatened him, Rowland consigned his sister's husband and his sister's child to the waves.
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