“Oh, Lotto,” Mathilde said, and her coffee breath mingled with his own dead muskrat breath, and he felt the swoop of her eyelashes on his temple. “Baby, you’ve done it,” she said. “What?” he said. “It’s so good. I don’t know why I was so surprised, of course you’re brilliant. It’s just been a struggle for so long.” “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry. What’s happening?” “I don’t know! A play, I think. Called The Springs. You started it at 1:47 last night. I can’t freaking believe you wrote all that in five hours. It needs a third act. Some editing. I’ve already started. You can’t spell, but we
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