A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. And she would have to go tomorrow. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Taking his new purchase under his arm, Jack proceeded to a small tavern in the same street, where, having ordered dinner, he went to a bed-room to attire himself. My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago.
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