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... the top windows, refusing to stay. Margo perched on the edge of her chair. The silence cut through the grandfather clock's tick, ringing in her ears.

The table was loaded. Plates of eggs and toast, fruit sliced in welcoming patterns. None of them were touched. Mr. Wood sat back, arms folded, the jaw working. The way Mrs. Wood sloshed her tea hinted at calculation of poison. Margo looked at one and the other, stomach twisted up.

"Wouldn't you guys talk?"

Her father's eyes ...

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