"Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. Those were great tricks that you pulled with the car and the glass, but why shouldn’t I believe that this has all been an elaborate hoax?” He asked.
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