CHAPTER XXIII. She changed into a halter top and a pair of tight jeans herself, and let Lucy brush her long, glossy hair as they talked about mascara, schoolwork, and boys. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute.
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