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the wheel I’d so carefully shaped chipped off and skittered under the sideboard.
My heart cracked with that sound, but I kept my face neutral. I’d spent five years learning to hide my reactions.
I turned back to my soup—a thick pumpkin bisque that was aggressively salty and had gone cold. I took a spoonful and grimaced slightly.
“This is a bit salty,” continue reading …
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