” “Where is your husband?” Anna asked. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. ” Anna laughed, and went back to her easy chair. See paragraph 1. He would pursue that little pastime on some other occasion.
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