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You open the cabin door and you run all the way to the store. Chipped gold lettering with black edges on the window says ELLISON STORE- MRS. AGNES ELLISON, PROP. A tall thin lady with white hair stands behind the counter. “Are you Mrs. Ellison?” You ask, entering quickly. “Who wants to know?” she asks, turning to stare at you. Stan was right. She looks about ninety. “Call the police!” you say, “You’re going to be robbed!” Mrs. Ellison scowls. “I don’t know you,” she says. “I’m staying at my uncle Jason at the lookout,” you say. “Oh, that writer fellow. Do you make up stories too?” She turns and starts dusting a shelf. “Don’t know anybody in these parts who’d want to rob Agnes Ellison,” she says. The end
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