“But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. I guess. ’ ‘No, sister, I know that, but—’ ‘You needn’t tell me. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. But I am here. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus.
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