You could see the recognition, and the distress, dawn across his face. Whatever it was, it was not something he liked. The stubby pink plunger forced the offending morsel out from between his down-turned lips. “Do’ wan-it,” came the plaintive, half formed sentence, as he pushed the plate across the dining room table. Share This </img> </img></img></img></img></img></img></img></img> </img>
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