\" She replied. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. ” “Happy Birthday to you. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Her confession was still unmade. . Presently he felt motion. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream.
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