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him.
Not a shout. Not my name. Nothing dramatic enough for a movie.
Just a cough. A small, irritated cough, followed by a muttered complaint about the price of peaches.
“Four dollars for syrup and half a can of fruit,” he said under his breath. “Highway robbery.”
My fingers froze around the jar I had reached for.
My body knew before my mind did. My skin continue reading …
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