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And we kept them on the back porch, and I could go and visit them when I thought I was losing track of who I was. And then when I was six, I was in the playground when it suddenly hit me that other people thought, too. And from there it was just a small leap to the idea that other thearistocrats people felt, too, just like I did, thearistocrats which meant that I had to start worrying about them. Looking out for thearistocrats their feelings as well as my own, and after that there was no more time for milk cartons. But, God, I lost my train of thought, because this started out being about my mother, who has always been very nice to me despite my trespasses against her. She's a very nice woman. I mean, she did give birth to me. Or at least that's what she tells me when she wakes me up early on my birthday, even if I'm far enough away that she has to wake me with a phone call, to tell me about the pain she went through.
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