Marion

Marion For a long time, I saw her more or less any day on the train. Her gravely give tongue to would prompt me to looking at up and then rapidly look down. Sometimes, she would appear as I gazed aimlessly at the doors that adjoin the cars of the train. She would enter, look around, select a organization faintly and then introduce herself. Her name is Marion. She is homeless. But no, she doesnt withdraw and never has in her life. She is down on her muckle and demand help. And can we please help her? A dime, a nickel, anything. In fact, she would be happy with food. No, she doesnt do drugs and would be so grateful for any kind soul who would help.

evermore that very same speech with that same plastic cheerfulness. She would make her charge slowly through the train car, patiently when it was almost empty, and excusing herself to those who were already shrinking away from her, when it was crowded. She would stop sometimes and mate into the face closest to her with a deep imploration in her eyes. When it was my face, I w...If you trust to get a full essay, order it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com

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