On Saturday evenings, my grandmother would set me on the work table in the warm kitchen, wrapped up in the biggest towel I’ve ever seen in my life. You didn’t eat at the work table, you only worked. You ate at the eating table, of course. Look at you, so pretty and clean, not even kings get such nice baths. C’mon, let’s wipe you down with this lordly towel. You splashed around, almost pickled …
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