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now, fully grown, with paint smudged across her fingers and her hair half pinned back. The second I looked at her face, I knew something was wrong. Her skin had gone pale, and the paintbrush in her hand slipped and clattered against the stair.
“Dad,” she said quietly, “maybe… don’t go today.”
“Why, sweetheart?”
Anna glanced away too fast. “Nothing. I continue reading …
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