It was she—— Anna’s nerves were not easily shaken, but she found herself suddenly clutching at the table for support. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. There were two sisters, you know. And it's uncanny. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. ‘Until today. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. My death, probably.
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