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“My husband knows all. Wood. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. “Anna,” he said, “you make it all indescribably hard for me. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart. It was hard to meet that gaze.
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