With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between. But you belong to me—and I want you. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet.
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