Marion

Marion For a long time, I saw her approximately every(prenominal) day on the train. Her gravely voice would prompt me to tincture up and then quickly 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, smile faintly and then introduce herself. Her name is Marion. She is homeless. But no, she doesn?t steal and never has in her life. She is down on her slew and needs help. And can we please help her? A dime, a nickel, anything. In fact, she would be happy with food. No, she doesn?t do drugs and would be so grateful for any kind soul who would help.

forever and a day that very same speech with that same plastic cheerfulness. She would bring in her way 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 match into the face closest to her with a deep imploration in her eyes. When it was my face, I wou...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com

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