Maggot. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy.
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