There was nobody to tell. I wanted my father. Is it necessary always to use the ugliest word? I did not know how I had gotten there. The smell of smoke was everywhere. So, I suppose, would his poetic daughter, Elizabeth. He was especially protective of his invalided daughter, Elizabeth, who had not been out of her room for years.
I know I broke restricks because I remember sitting out under the cottonwoods and thinking what a wonderful sense of humor Old Man Moulton had. I wanted my father. But she had no claws, no teeth. I guess I had kind of a little breakdown. I pressed the wallplate and kept my bandaged hand on it, as if I might need it for support. She would not believe me. The smell of smoke was everywhere. Zibet would struggle and struggle. If he forbade them to marry or even to have friends, he was only trying to protect them from the worldliness and evil he saw everywhere. Is it necessary always to use the ugliest word? Flashing red and white and red again like an alert band: Zibet was standing in the door of the bathroom. Or is fear a chemical, too? There was nobody to tell. Fucking piles of scut. He knelt and prayed with her every night. He cut off all her hair. None of them was bad enough for this. I yanked the hand free, balled it into a fist, and crammed it against my mouth hard to keep from screaming myself. I laid it over my lap and stuck an exploratory finger a little way into the vaj. He had only their best interests at heart. The smell of burning was everywhere. She would put me on restricks. He had paid his money, spilled his juice, and thrown me to the wolves. I knew before I opened the door that Zibet was sitting on my bunk in the dark.
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