"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. He did not have to. ‘That is my mother. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. “You are not content then with stealing from me my name. Mike was already on dishwasher duty when John rang the doorbell. ” She raised her eyebrows. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said.
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