She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. You can live just about how you like. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. 1. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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