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“What’s that smell?” Jane asked. “Are those…did you?” We turned the corner to the kitchen to see the platter of freshly baked biscuits David had set out along with butter and four kinds of jam. “Oh, my God, David! I’m not worthy.”

David smiled. “I honestly couldn’t hear what else you said. What was that address?” When Jane told him, David deflated with a disheartened sigh. “Really?” He repeated the address, and we stared at him blankly. David searched our faces and shook his head. He set out two plates, passed us each a butter knife and a napkin. Then he sighed, smiled, and said, “You guys jogged right past it.”

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