Annie looked up. Standing there was a woman who looked like a mirror image of her own mother, albeit a younger, more vibrant version. The resemblance was uncanny—the same sharp chin, the same piercing green eyes.
But as she turned to leave, she spotted a small, wooden jewelry box on the last table. It wasn't for the boys. It was a simple, hand-carved box with a little brass latch. It counted as credit number ten. Annie hesitated, then swapped her final ticket for the box. annie king mother exchange 10 new