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March 08, 2013 in Freedom, History | Permalink
Natasha listened, cried, and squeezed my hand tight by stealth under the table. The reading was over. She got up, her cheeks were flushed, tears stood in her eyes. All at once she snatched my hand, kissed it, and ran out of the room. The father and mother looked at one another.
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December 07, 2013 at 02:37 AM
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