“Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. Here we go, thought Gerald.
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