If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, and in the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by the witless cruelty of the act. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. ” He crossed his arms. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me.
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