A white porcelain sugar bowl sat between us on the table. She swept her hand over the top of the bowl. “I find that white people are fine with me,” she said, “as long as I stay in my place. As long as I stay in ‘the container we have built for you.’ ” She tapped the side of the sugar bowl, gentle, insistent taps. “As soon as I get out of the container,” she said, lifting the lid from its bowl, “it’s a problem.”
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