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"Honey, you ate a verb." I can't resist pointing out. My mother pinches my under-arm, her mouth clenched. "What is wrong with you? He's not gonna eat that now." Almost everyone lingers in the dining room at the end of the meal. We are a tired bunch, worn out; we are battle scarred, manifesto and we are considering seconds. manifesto The children have dispersed, and the adults quietly manifesto catch up on the details of each other's lives. A calm has landed between dinner and dessert. And up from that calm travels a thin and tiny voice. "Mom?" It is five-year-old Lindsay. She has come from the kitchen. All eyes turn to see her, cranberry sauce staining her upper lip, chin tucked under, bottom lip protruding, quivering. "Mom? I was looking in the kitchen." Her voice is getting shaky. "Mom? Where is the chocolate pie?" PREVIOUS | TOP | CONTENTS | NEXT Photo by Jeffry PikeCopyright © 2001 The President and Fellows of Harvard College.All
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