We laugh. It’s nice, this brief moment of companionship. The warmth coats my chest when I giggle for the first time in a long while. For the first time since Mama. I raise the sticky bun between us. “Wanna split?” She laughs again when I wave the dough beneath her nose. “What, with your sweat all over it?” “Oh, this is nothing,” I say, the words muffled by the bite I take. “I’ve sweat more while trying to stitch up a corset.” She looks absolutely distraught at that statement. “Why would you ever need a corset?” “Unfortunately,” I sigh wistfully, “I wouldn’t. But richer people do.” She blinks
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