And Susie says that this one insisted that the lawn be perfectly cut. Each piece of grass had to be the exactly the same length. Every day, all day, he would lie outside and measure it. When he died, they planted seeds over his coffin. A meadow of wild flowers.
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The Duke hated children. Their cruel streak jabbed at his heart every time he saw his reflection on the mirror opposite. They'd point at his tumbling locks, mimic his swollen chins, laughing and dribbling chewed-up sweets onto the rug. The artist had been a child too. And they knew it.
During holiday, mother loves telling Duke tales. Known for his finicky tastes, he ate no chicken. Delighted devouring deer for days, but no hen for Hansel. The story goes he’d hit the parish right before the holiday, procure every available chicken, and burn them all at the edge of town.
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