In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. Nor can we. He uttered her name and his excitement grew when he did not feel a bra. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. He would pick a random member of the ever-shifting household for the sake of example. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that.
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