“Miranda woke in the dark, swamped by a puddle of warm and limp child-limbs. Her husband was snoring on the far side of the bed, but both of her sons were drawn in their sleep to her body only, the motherbody, their arms and legs reaching for the throbbing of her heart alone. She slipped free of their tangle, and rolled to the edge of the mattress. Miranda pressed herself to the wall. The plaster was cool against her sore and heavy breasts. They were full again…”

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