Talking. I shuddered, my daughter was right on time. She was speaking with someone. I heard the giggles of young girls through the doors. Through the ...rosted window of Rita's front door, two blurry figures approached. I smiled, so eager for it.“...and I told her that it was none of her business,” Wendy was saying as she opened the door. Her head turned and she blinked. “Oh, Mrs. Miller. Hi. And... Mom?”I smiled, turning, twisting my gem.Already, my daughter's hands went to the buttons of her. She lifted her petticoats revealing that delicate curve of her belly Harry called her ‘bowl of wheat.’ Again she visited the ginger jar, this time cupping up a small pool of oil with her fingers and dripping it into the deep hollow of her navel. Soon this skin would swell with the growing life within. She meant to minister to her skin, but another urge was stronger. She could not keep her body from rising to meet the hand and the slippery touch of the warm oil. Soon she had soaked the rusty. More

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