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Michael Malone - Weebly

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chapter 35<br />

Deprived for a while of his beloved garden, Father<br />

Highwick perambulated among the greenery of Central<br />

Park with his ninety-two year-old mother, who moved<br />

with the aid of an aluminum walker.<br />

Mrs. Highwick was a happy little woman in<br />

orthopedic shoes who wore a straw sailor hat and an<br />

extra-large Aran Island sweater over her dress. Her son<br />

was elegant in white.<br />

"Lovely morning, Ma. Beautiful blue sky. Fluffy<br />

clouds."<br />

"But I don't like those fat hippopotamuses up there.<br />

Who let them waddle up there? Call the police before<br />

they pee on our heads."<br />

"Oh, hoo-ho-ho. What a way you have of putting<br />

things, Ma. It's not going to rain! Not a chance."<br />

"It rained on the Pope, didn't it? Yes. It rained on<br />

the heathen Moabites in the Promised Land. Yes. It<br />

rained, rained, rained until their boots filled up with<br />

fishes. They told me it was awful."<br />

"True, true. It rained forty days and forty nights. It<br />

must have been awful."

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