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White?” she asked, laughing. ” His rhythm slowed to a grind. I had special ways of getting out of the basement without them noticing, and often I could smuggle a child or two out for 160 the day and they were never the wiser. I know my son's voice too well. 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. I know he is dead.
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