“We may just as well have our talk afterwards,” she said, “and I need not keep poor Mr. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. She tried to scream, \"I'm coming to you, Mama!\" But no sound would come from her mouth. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. Dolby was portly and handsome. "Where?" she cried. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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