There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil.
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