With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. But the twins were so fucked over at that point they were zombies. You were delicious in concert, by the way. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction.
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