My son has a small dent in his eyebrow where he cracked his head open when he was eight, playing football in a market square while I finished supper and two three four glasses of wine with friends. A stranger carried him to me dripping blood on my white flimsy dress. Someone drove us to hospital where he got six stitches and I fell asleep on a chair in emergency. I have never loved him as much as when at three in the morning they let us go and he kissed me and asked me if I was tired.
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