She awoke at 11:12 am, her foster sister snoring in the bed across the room. " "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. John’s demeanor shifted. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing.
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