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She disliked pity on sight.
One afternoon she spread her exercise book across an upturned crate near the yam stall and scowled at a page of arithmetic.
“I hate math,” she announced.
“You shouldn’t say hate so quickly,” Micah said.
She stabbed at the page with a pencil. “Then you do it.”
He looked down. It was simple division. He sat on the low step beside continue reading …
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