December night in Lower Manhattan A novel

Jenny Marlowe is a nine year old girl whose parents ignore her. When she finds out that all of the children are also ignored, she insists on getting a campaign to get them power during the month of December.

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1. Jenny Marlowe-Part One

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The​ beginning of the trouble started when Mom and Dad ignored me. It was a cold, wintery night on December 1, 2017; it was something Mr. Jacobson, our neighbour, told me. He was also dressed as Santa Claus every year. I smiled at him. The Christmas lights were turned on; the lights illuminated the house next door. My house was dark, as if my parents couldn't afford a spectacle of being festive. I was poor like Oliver Twist in Charles Dickens's novel. "Jenny, here's a present for you", Santa said. I smiled at him, and I gazed at him admiringly. I grabbed it; I saw it was wrapped in inexpensive green wrapping paper. The Amazon.com orders would be busy until December 23, (the day before Christmas Eve); the orders weren't going to bother me; my orders would come by December 26, (Boxing Day). I had short, brown hair, brown eyes, and petite. I wrapped my small hands around my long, grey, sweater. I was warm. It was fifty-eight degrees in Lower Manhattan. Snow started to fall as I gripped a lamp in my right hand; I felt the burning heat as I walked towards Times Square, and sang Christmas songs by the huge tree that was in the middle. I knew the words to 'Silent Night​'. By seven o'clock PM, I saw a middle-aged woman dressed in a rich fur coat. She was a millionaire. "Where's your parents?", she asked me. "In their poor house", I stated. And she shook her head. "Oh, that's sad. I'm Emily Pryce". I nodded. "Jenny", I answered. And I shivered from the eternal cold, and smiled.

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Emily, who was a socialite in New York, was radiant. 

She gazed at the snow that was falling. 

"You mustn't be out at this time of night in December", she told me.

"I'm well. I have a lamp with me to see in the darkness".

"I see. It's beautiful", Emily said.

"Yes, it is. If your parents won't take you back, Emily, then I will let you into my house", she said. And, she grabbed my right hand, and let me open the passenger-side door of the grey limousine, and as I sat down on the black, leather, seat. I put my seat belt on, and closed the door. Then I waited for Emily to sit down next to me. An African-American driver smiled at me. "Welcome, Jenny. I'm Morris". I nodded. I nodded. I was wary of strangers. But Morris cast a friendly welcome. "Hello. Merry Christmas!", I said. He nodded. And, as we all relaxed after putting on our seat belt, Morris drove towards the Mansion which was in Lower Manhattan.

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The Mansion was three hundred years old. 

It had eight rooms, two toilets, a huge lounge room with high-definition cable television, and a laundry room. I gazed in wonder at it. Morris grinned. He opened the doors. "Miss Emily; Miss Jenny", he said. And I stretched my legs. Then I followed Emily up the stone steps of the house, and let her open the grey double front door.

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Emily opened the door.

"Tracey, my servant, is away because of the holidays", she informed me. She grabbed a silvery key in her small, right hand. The door creaked. Then, as she let me inside, Morris walked inside. It was something I wasn't used to. I remembered Mom and Dad ignoring me when I was six years' old; I remembered the way they were ignoring my crying when I was hungry. I knew what being poor was. There was no humour in the way things were panning out; there was no laughter in which I would celebrate Christmas in December until I was forced out of my house tonight. "It's late, I'll show you to your bedroom", Emily said. And I nodded. And walked down the thin hallway towards the room.

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