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But we didnβt bring tents!β said a second mother. That mother was low in the hierarchy. Wore long, flowing dresses, in floral and paisley patterns. Once, drunk-dancing, sheβd fallen into a potted plant. Bloodied her nose. I sensed some condescension coming toward her from the other parents. If they were being hunted, sheβd be the first one abandoned by the herd. Sacrificed to a marauding lioness whose powerful jaws would rip and tear. Next vultures would peck indifferently at the leftovers. It would be sad, probably. Still, no one wanted that mother. We pitied the fool who would be implicated, down the road. βWeβll handle it,β said Terry.
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