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My saintly Italian grandmother (who by now is surely running things in Heaven) stood up, stared at him for a moment as he continued his homily, shook her head, and walked out of the church. Since we always sat toward the front, there was no missing her exit or the final, withering look sh…
Paul Combs
Simon Dillon
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Good for her.
Novelist and Short Story-ist. Film and Book Lover. If you cut me, I bleed celluloid and paper pulp. Blog: www.simondillonbooks.wordpress.com
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