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An Exhibition of the Art of Finger-Licking

“I bet it’s in one of these sixty bajillion empty packages,” grumbled Kayla, immediately beginning to rummage through the unbelievable mess littering the floor.

“There’s nothing to be seen in empty boxes,” Alvin pointed out, “if they’re empty.”

“Well, maybe they aren’t.”

“Well, maybe they are.”

“You shut up!”

“And stop saying that so much.”

“I hope Mrs. Winters will excuse me from my division homework,” broke in Patsy anxiously, as she hadn’t been listening to a word her siblings were saying; “After all, it is my eighth birthday.”

The eldest child grinned, both at her naivete and her ability to intervene without intending to.

A scream from Kayla summoned all, and within two minutes, their mother’s cake had been reduced to smears of chocolate on the plate and the children’ little pink fingers, and even this they lapped up eagerly, while a hawk swooped down outside.

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