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cooled by the creek.
“Look at this,” a voice hissed. It was a voice like broken glass. “The beggar’s queen out for a stroll.”
Zainab froze. “Aminah?”
Her sister stepped into her personal space, the scent of expensive rosewater cloying and suffocating. “You look pathetic, Zainab. Truly. To think you’ve traded a mansion for a mud hut and a man who smells continue reading …
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