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Show CHRYSALIS PAGE 139 I slip my arms around Mark and lay my head against his chest. His thumb makes little circles up and down my back. The baby kicks and twists. "Did you feel that?" I roll over and put his hand on my belly. He laughs softly, caressing me. The Mountain meets Mohammed. The bedroom door bangs open. Matthew's plaintive voice comes through the half-light from the hall. "Had a attident," he confesses sleepily. "I co-o-old." He drops his wet pants on the floor and settles himself damply between me and Mark. "I think Matthew's had an accident," I say. Mark makes loud snoring noises. "A spider's in my bed," Matthew adds. I change his pants and bed. I show him, inch by inch, that no spiders share his sheets. "Where is Popeye's teeth?" he asks. "Whose teeth?" "Does Popeye got teeth?" "Matthew, it's late," I say. "Who knows?" I crawl back into bed. "Mark?" I whisper. Rats, he really is asleep. Oh, well. I'm out of the mood now anyway. But I can't sleep. Does Popeye have teeth? |