"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. ” He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped, having passed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd.
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