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. gutenberg. ” She turned a firelit face to her husband. But, be like a son to her. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. Ray did not pace, he just stood. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms.
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