They'd gotten in an hour or so before sundown last night, and Arthur had spent rather a lot of time hanging out in front of windows, staring at the countryside. He couldn't help it-- being here both helped and hindered his homesickness
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Since no one arrested her on the way there or back (and no cats, birds, or sheep were harmed in the making of this trip) she felt the ingredients she'd returned with were well worth the risk of criminal prosecution. Or, you know, Arthur yelling at her.
Which was why, a few hours later, there was now homemade bread in the oven.
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Although, you know, there were a whole bunch of ways to get out of it.
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"That's the idea here too. Well, not the hating each other. You know what I mean." It's a grape, not your father's head, Francine. Eat it.
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"It might be..." Better if you could, Francine was going to say, but yeah. The weather was good, the place was beautiful the house smelled like bread, and enough of that. "Whatever. I guess it'll be nice to see the place again, but it's not home."
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