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"Don't you know that is my favorite urn, Moreau?"

There was no choice. There was a crisis behind the exceptional decision that had been floated as an act of determination. The initial question the woman had felt like a desire to give Moreau a hard-on. That Barbara might have gotten. Vigilance rose on par with the eye contact between them.

Moreau knew she had to be careful, but trying to brush off her mother's anger was futile. There was no guarantee that the woman would make the right choice. Moreau could only watch as Barbara suddenly pointed out something. The woman knew all too well how much the object in her hand meant to Moreau.

"What do you want to do, Mom?" Moreau asked with a wary tone. Another object in Barbara's hand confirmed something. Scissors. She knew this was going to be the brutal part of the decision to come.

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