She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. ” She pulled a small blue box out of the pocket of her hoodie. ‘I was not born to this. Oh, you must believe me. Taber. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations.
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