Below Kia my pencil was making a series of fat loopsthat might have been cursive letter l's or hair ribbons. Go away, my finewhoremaster. He bought her a box of Saturday night candies at a drugstore. The drowned boy, maybe.
With the sheet pulled taut, I looked again. Are we done eating? I nodded, and Mattie began to pick up the trash and stuff it back intothe take-out bag. Jottings everywhere in Jo'sneat hand. But it'll be damned good to see you down this way.
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