The Pettigrews were a large family in both numbers and in flesh; Debra's fetching chubbiness was but a slight reminder of the family's potential for girth. The snake didn't fight the current, it raced with it, trying to find the angle that would bring it safely under the eroded bank or into the tangled bracken. 'Bath,' she repeated. Irene Titcomb giggled, and turned her burn scar away.
She shifted in the chair; the barrette in her pocket hurt her a little less. What they do about it is their business; if they want advice, they should ask. 'Pete's not working,' Angel said. Pinching her fingers to either side of the mole, the grandmother inflamed the surrounding skin and made the mole appear to explode from her face—like a boil come to a head, about to burst.
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