“Morning, Mom. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. Not us. ’ Her lashes fluttered. Manning called. He’s dead. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Jack's body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree. She heard the shower running and looked at his floor.
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