She had never been attached to Ramona, and she wouldn’t miss her. She felt sad not that she had lost something but rather that her mother had—Ramona had loved her life, her pipe and her blue casita and her mountain. Mirella was sorry the old woman wouldn’t live any more of the days she had loved so much. She was sorry for Penelope, too, afraid she would be unable to stop crying, the way Mirella had been after her father died. She had cried every day for a year, and then only once in a while, abruptly and for no reason at all, at times that seemed to have nothing to do with her father. And then
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