This was what he missed. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. “You are very good,” she said. E. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled.
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