Afterward he stole out of the room with the bloodstained sheet to boast her virginity to his brothers and father, which only truly mattered because she was beautiful, her mother had said. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. His fatigue was tacitly understood within the family; it was a phenomenon which everyone acknowledged as related to the trades.
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