The ardeur is gone. I gave him a look that wasn't entirely friendly. He walked around the table, fingers trailing on the backs of the chairs. Who are you, my mother? I grabbed the belt of her jeans and lifted her bodily off of the man.
I said, in a voice breathy and panting, Metaphysics, we don't need no stinking metaphysics. Out loud I tried again, though the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that I was going to lose this argument. He tried to rub his arms, but the bloody scrapes hurt. I had baby wipes in the desk drawer.
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