Emily McIllwain

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A calm comes over her daughter; she sheds her huffy affectations and her tightly wound teenage façade and allows herself to speak easily to her mother. To acknowledge any of this would be to ruin everything, so Julia sits, sometimes, in complete stillness, trilling, like a rock absorbing sunlight: the marvelous fact that, for an hour, her daughter is her friend.
Same As It Ever Was
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