Debbie Roth

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He gives me a quick look, and I’m so worried he is about to ruin this moment, that he’ll say something about Sixten, but he turns his attention back to the lures. Trailing a finger over them, one after another. Careful, I want to tell him, but I hold my tongue. I wish I could put a hand on his head and ruffle his thinning hair.
When the Cranes Fly South
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