Lily waits, anxiously watching Ba tighten the bandage over my open palm. “Why this house?” I ask. “Your grandma worked here when she was little, but it was never hers, right?” Most of these villas belonged to French officers when first built in the early 1900s, and Alma had already told us who owned this one. On the wallpaper, another bird has been eaten by silverfish, giving it the texture of crushed tissue. Outside the rain lulls as if to leave us space to shout. “This is a good house.” Ba’s eyes level mine. “Good location.”
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