Stephanie, hand me that book.
Alexandra, are you listening?
Yeah, trust me, Mom, I can always hear you.
Oh, you're an incorrigible young lady. Now, where is that poem? "What is mine all belongs to my children. What I take belongs to the forthcoming generation, A strange little band, inflicting pain with joy. How affirming it must feel to be Death, To take the pieces of life, and place them together However you fancy them to be construed, A space too vast to be even a ...