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One of them was a tall man in a sharp suit, looking very out of place among the buckets of carnations. The other was a woman with a kind face and a clipboard, who I recognized as a local social worker. My stomach dropped into my shoes as I looked at Mr. Sterling, who was standing there with a strange expression on his face. He didn’t look angry, though; he looked humbled, which was a look I’d never seen on him in the three years I’d worked there, a look that suggested he had seen something truly profound and was now processing the weight of it.
