Clara Grace woke up with a fever in the middle of the night Monday, January the twenty-ninth. Her mommy rocked her on her lap and wiped a cool washcloth across her warm face. “Cold washcloth,” Clara Grace announced groggily.
“I know,” her mommy answered. Your head is too hot because of the fever so we need to make it feel good with this cold washcloth.”
“I have a beaver on my head,” Clara Grace mused curiously.
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