I won’t snatch, harm, or scare to death people with you or use checking up on you as an excuse to cause trouble. You’re worse than my mother, Rachel. Mine, too, Jenks muttered.
Rachel, you take her, my mother said, clearly uncomfortable. She might like you. No. Mom, no! I protested, but it was my mother we were talking about, and it was either take the baby or have her hit the floor.
You tried to slide his original curse back onto him? Al said in wonder. At the restaurant? And I stopped you? Sweet mother pus bucket! he exclaimed, and I swear, dust sifted from the ceiling. Rachel, we have to work on this communication thing.