#82964 - I hate you, I wish you were dead!” Susan’s face turned red with rage after her outburst and stamped her feet as she bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. “Hey, make your own!” cried Clay, realizing his cup wasn’t where he’d put it. “I’ve just baked bread,” she said, enthusiastically, “it’s still quite warm and tastes grand with a knob of my homemade butter.
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