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Going to the address
But most of all, she wanted to be there for her mother. She looked up from her coffee as a car pulled up. Together, they set off for 108 Clarkmadow Avenue, the address that was inscribed on the key. The drive was mostly silent, the car’s engine humming a tune that echoed the tension between them. Finally, they pulled up in front of an old, unassuming house.
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