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me a bad person?” she asked.
It was a serious question. Eleven-year-olds ask the most serious questions.
“No,” I said. “It makes you honest.”
She went back to drawing. “Okay,” she said.
Just: okay.
As if that settled it.
And somehow, sitting there in the early light with the ocean doing its patient, indifferent work in front of us, it did.
Some doors need continue reading …
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