Rebecca Trotter

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“Won’t you stop crying?” she asked Drummer as she sat on the narrow bed in the dark. She spoke in a quiet voice. Drummer gurgled and cried louder. “All right,” Mary said, and she stood up. “All right, then. I’ll make you stop.” She switched on the lights in the kitchenette. Then she turned on one of the stove’s burners and swiveled its dial to high.
Mine
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