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I stood on the icy cement step and screamed at the top of my lungs, "Help me, I'm dying." My mother peered around the corner again, pulled the phone from her ear, and studied me, convinced that I had finally lost my mind like one of my father's cousins. She set the phone down, marched to the door with her hands on her hips, and gave lesbian threesome me a questioning look. "I think I broke my arm, Mom," I lesbian threesome whimpered. She glanced at the thermometer that read 2 degrees Fahrenheit, she examined my face for signs of exaggeration, and she unlocked the storm door. Unless blood was spurting from a major artery, my mother was not inclined to treat mishaps with more than a shrug of her shoulders and a snort. "Okay, Sarah Bernhardt, let's get you to the emergency room." Like the desert tales that monks have used for centuries as a basis for theology and way of life, the tales of small-town gossip are often morally instructive, illustrating the ways ordinary people survive the worst that happens to them.
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