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I’ve got to end this series, since it is the basis of my next book and I don’t want to give it away but there are so many stories I want to share. One is about a suicide and a mean Christian.
Mrs Rivers was as old as the hills. I believe she was born that way. Widowed more than forty years, no one ever spoke of her husband. It was impossible for me to imagine anyone could have ever wanted to marry her, as unpleasant as she appeared. Still living in the house where she raised her children, her son had built a house on her lot. My mother often remarked she’d be a trial as a mother-in-law as we drove by and saw her dressed in a dark, long-sleeved dress and sun bonnet working her garden with a push plow. I’m sure she refused…
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