Fiction | June 01, 2001
Interpreters
Barbara Klein Moss
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The child is Thomas’, not his. She knows this, just as she knows it was Thomas she tempted, Thomas’ seed she wooed that first night in the house.
She had answered the last of the visitors’ questions at her door instead of leaving by way of the fields as the two of them usually did at closing. She had taken off her cap and let her hair flow down her back.
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