‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. So far, however, was this submission from producing the desired effect, that it seemed only to lend additional fuel to her displeasure. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs.
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