She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. “Hello?” She asked as she cradled the phone by her ear. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. But it's French manners, I suppose.
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