She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. Our ideal had fallen. “Marriage and mothering,” said Ann Veronica, with her mind crystallizing out again as the lark dropped to the nest in the turf. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon.
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