“Lucy Albert. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. ’ ‘But it was not your fault,’ protested Gosse, shocked. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. The point is, I know all the tricks in finding a man.
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