He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. On Sunday, he was conveyed to the chapel, through which he had passed on the occasion of his great escape, and once more took his seat in the Condemned Pew. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces.
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