"Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. Michelle ate fast, and Lucy followed her lead, shoveling mashed potatoes and salmon down her gullet in a passionless frenzy. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. The man pulled up.
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