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"Sometimes help just appears from the sky." This was an expression of her mother's and it didn't mean angels or spirits or any of that New Age stuff but meant "from thin air"—when you were least expecting it. Okay, Mama, let's hope. 'Cause I can use some help now. Can use it bad. Sandra May DuMont leaned back in a black-leather office chair and let the papers in her hand drop onto the old desk that dominated her late husband's office. As she looked out the window she wondered if she was looking at that help right now. Not exactly appearing from the sky—but walking up the cement path to the factory, in the form of a man with an easy smile and sharp eyes. She turned away and caught sight of herself in the antique mirror she'd bought for her husband ten years ago, on their fifth anniversary. Today, she had only a brief memory of that happier day; what she
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