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The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. I’ll give you grandpére!’ ‘But milor’—’ ‘Pardon!’ No longer master of his actions, the general lurched forward, waving his cane. The fire still burned brightly. ’ Total bullshit, if you ask me.
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