It took her only two towns away, near the Arby’s where Mike worked. They talked of a new substitute for dripping in vegetarian cookery that Mrs. Ireton and his friends to taste it. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy.
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