Dear folks,
I feel miserable because I have to keep writing for money. I feel ashamed and unhappy to have to ask for another hundred, but every cell in my body rebels. I beg on bended knee that you forgive me.
Your son,
Marvin.
P.S. I felt so terrible I ran after the mailman who picked this up in the box at the corner. I wanted to take this letter and burn it. I prayed that I could get it back. But it was too late.
A few days later he received a letter from his father. It said:
Dear Son,
Your prayers were answered. Your letter never came."
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