“Yes, of course. But that’s not the point. The point is that I ate my cake so quickly and with my heart so intent on finding the toy that, to this day, I can’t tell you the flavor of the cake. I can’t describe the texture. I can’t say if it was delicious or bland. I can’t even remember what country it came from. Do you know why?” “Because . . . you . . . were focused . . . on looking for the toy.” Sopeap sighs again, but this time with relief rather than despair. I bite my tongue to remind my pride to stay seated. “Yes!” she says. “Literature is a cake with many toys baked inside—and even if
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