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the wall warm.”
“Usually,” Carter echoed. “How long have you been on the streets?”
“Since my mom died. Twenty-one days.”
“Twenty-one days.”
She’d counted every one.
“The shelter wouldn’t let you stay?”
“They wanted to split me up from my things. Put me in foster care. I got scared and ran away.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“My mom said foster care is where continue reading …
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