The man was murmuring in his sleep. She didn’t recognise the language but she knew quite clearly that he was calling for his mother. She nodded to h...rself. That was as it should be. In extremity a man would always turn back to the one who bore him. It was as if they sought the safety of the womb. She understood this, she, whose womb was barren. Time passed. She grew drowsy in the warmth of the hut and forced herself to stir. She heated some soup and trickled some of the warm, thick liquid into. A professor. An assistant dean. A nearly new Mercedes. This beautiful mansion. This is a long way from Joliet.”“This isn’t a mansion,” she countered, “But thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”She smiled. She was wearing relatively tight jeans and a turtleneck. She looked fabulous. I pulled her close to me and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Birthing Rachel had been kind to her figure. It had been kind to her eyes, to everything. There was no longer that sense of dullness to her. More

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