She had a plastic bird spitting water into a disk the size of a pie plate that overflowed into a small rubber pool—blue, it was bright blue, maybe six foot, a kid thing, seahorses on it. It was a parody of a fountain, or a memory of one, something she’d always wanted since she was a kid and saw pictures in a house magazine, water garden, and this was her version, and it was lovely, too, and she sat there by it sometimes.
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