The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. "Where are you?" "Here," replied Mrs. . ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. His food lay untouched about his plate. "Can't!" repeated his mother.
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