Perhaps I was makinga mountain out of a dust speck, using a manufactured 'illness ofspirit' as a cover for a wound to my professional pride. He said, Months. is arms, and studied me in that way healways does, the way that says, Steady on or I'll sort you out. She gave him a thumbsup.
All I know is that shewanted him placed with a family at once, and she wanted me to see toit, as soon as was possible after the birth. It's over coffee that she tells me the name for which Libbyis merely a diminutive: Liberty. The brass numberfifty-five was posted on it, between two narrow translucent windows. Then, when she thought that he'd recovered fromtheir initial skirmish, she would be back, offering a renewal of hersympathetic attention.
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