A neat tale, giving little away. Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. “Will he die?” she asked. ‘So are you. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. And lunged once more. But the fall was too great, and he abandoned the attempt.
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