Jane stirred the pot absent-mindedly, listening to the wind as it whistled through cracks in the walls. She bunched up the hem of her slip and used that to pick up the pot, then headed to the door to inspect it. A gunshot cracked through the dusk, and the crows took flight. Unfortunately for the girls, one of the birds was directly above where Jane held the pot, for a big clump of dirt plopped into the pot of beans.
“Goddamn it!” said Jane, as her body tensed, and her jaw clenched.
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