” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. The idea of leaving for Mexico had become unbearable, as he was so easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. ” 189 “Are you feeling okay?” She could feel a parade of ants dotting her skin.
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