“Either I want to shout,” said Mr. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. Sebastian grabbed the infant once again by the chest and it wailed into the air, exposing its rows of shark like teeth. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years.
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