Wood heard the cry. “I know. Mike had suffered severe depression in his first years with the Becks, but had grown to think of them as his natural family to the degree that his past seemed like a distant memory. "Iss, Massa. She could not go to him when it was apparent that he needed her beyond all other instances! What had caused this agony did not matter—then. He did everything. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. Give me your hand. That might happen on her birthday—in August. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness.
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