![]() ![]() She was always happier, sassier and surer of herself after John Chapman visited. The spark in his eyes and belly and God knows where else had leapt over to her like a flame finding its true path from one curled wood shaving to another. Of all the Goodenoughs, only Sadie stayed up and listened to him talk late into the night, occasionally throwing pinecones onto the fire to make it flare. The difference was that John Chapman had been with them the night before. It was not that Sadie Goodenough was hung over she was often hung over. ![]() It wore a man down, carving out a life from the Black Swamp. What made the fight between sweet and sour different this time was not that James Goodenough was tired he was always tired. It was an argument rehearsed so often that by now they both played their parts perfectly, their words flowing smooth and monotonous around each other since they had heard them enough times not to have to listen anymore. He wanted to grow more eaters, to eat she wanted spitters, to drink. ![]() ***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof*** ![]()
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