My son went down after his death. “Why not?” He asked. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. As her belly swelled, so did he. Took and ran away when she got herself with child. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. Then the long lashes sank demurely over them.
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