“What is it you want?” asked Magda again. Nadya thought of Genetchka dancing, of nervous Lara, of Betya and Ludmilla, of the others she had never known. “I want my father to be free of Karina. I want Duva to be free. I want to go home.” Gently, Magda reached out and touched Nadya's left hand—first the ring finger, then the pinkie. “Think on it,” she said.
