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"I had to guess how you might interact with all the real people, you see. That was part of the reason why real life did not completely follow the script I wrote. Also, I was not here during most events; I had to interview people to find out what had occurred and who said what, and often there were different stories to choose from concerning the same matter." |
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"It was a wonderful screenplay, was it not?" He looked at the ground with false modesty. |
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"It was," agreed Mariah with a reluctant smile. "But what about the things that happened as written that no one besides Matildaor mecould have known about?" |
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Pierce shrugged his bony shoulders. "Poetic license? Or perhaps just part of the chance to correct the past that I was given. In any event, some of what I wrote with no foreknowledge was permitted to come true." Pierce's voice grew stronger. "And now I thank you, my daughter, for righting the grievous wrong. It is time to send you back home." |
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"Home?" Mariah's heart started pounding. What did he mean? |
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"To your own time, of course." |
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Whereand whenwas home to her now? She'd been attracted to Pittsburgh in her time. But the inn? And Thorn? She protested, "But" |
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He did not stop speaking. "You have changed the course of history for your forefathers. When you return, you will find that your own family is large and loving. Your mother is alive and happily living with your very kind and stable papa. You'll recall everything, but it is unlikely that you will tell your tale, for who would believe it?" |
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Who indeed? she wondered. The idea held boundless appeal. Imagine Mariah Walker growing up in a caring environment, surrounded by reliable, loving people. In a real home. |
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But that wasn't all she had to consider. She'd come to like it here. She had friends. And . . . "What about Thorn?" she asked. |
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