In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. It was everyone's favorite meal. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen.
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