A dead branch, Rebecca had said of Debbie another time at a dinner party, meaning that she could never sort her life out well enough to offer Rebecca grandchildren. Her other children, the non-runts, the living branches that already extended the family tree, had not been close to her, even less to Gordon. They were total strangers now, who might not even hear about the news of his death. Debbie? She would know, and she would care. She would shed tears for him. Perhaps the runts of the litters could always recognize one another, though Gordon’s mother had never called him that. He was her only
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