She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. “Hey, Mike. What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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