Poppy Anne

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‘My love, it is the sign of our child. Where the belly stretched.’ He stared. ‘How long have they been there?’ ‘Since she was born.’ Ten years ago, now. ‘They are ugly,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry, my love. It is the same for all women.’ ‘If you were stone, I would chisel them off,’ he said.
Galatea
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