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the elder Ashcrofts were gathering.
Emma, who was eight, sat with her back straight, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as she watched the main table.
“Why are we sitting over here, Mommy?” Emma asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
“There are a lot of guests tonight, sweetheart,” I said, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “We have continue reading …
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