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“Do you miss it?” Lily asked. “China?” “Always,” Irene said. “How can I not?” Lily had expected that answer. Still, she kept her gaze on the ceiling, the heavy dark. “Even though it’s not yours?” she said. “It is,” Irene said. In the darkness, her voice softened. “And it’s yours too, whenever you want to claim it.”
Portrait of a Thief
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