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It seemed to him that he had been thought too big for that since the day he was born.
May Belle was as scrawny as Brenda was fat. She stood a moment in the middle of the floor in her underwear, her skin white and goose-bumpy. Her eyes were still drooped from sleep, and her pale brown hair stuck up all over her head like a squirrel’s nest on a winter branch. That’s got to be the world’s ugliest kid, he thought, looking her over with genuine affection. She threw her jeans into his face. “I’m gonna tell Momma.” He threw the jeans back at her. “Tell Momma what?” “How you just stand there staring at me when I ain’t got my clothes on.” Lord. She thought he was enjoying it. “Yeah,
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“Sounds kinda like Miss Edmunds.” It was Miss Edmunds. “Jess?” her voice flowed through the receiver. “Miserable weather, isn’t it?” “Yes’m.” He was scared to say more for fear she’d hear the shake. “I was thinking of driving down to Washington—maybe go to the Smithsonian or the National Gallery. How would you like to keep me company?” He broke out in a cold sweat. “Jess?” He licked his lips and shoved his hair off his face. “You still there, Jess?” “Yes’m.” He tried to get a deep breath so he could keep talking. “Would you like to go with me?” Lord. “Yes’m.”