Mr. Hayes stared straight back at me. And he was furious. “Go, please! Yallah, yallah!” I yelled to the driver. “Rápido!” My transport lurched forward, the momentum pushing me backward. We moved quickly through the thickening traffic, making a turn and then another. I looked out the window, the breeze rustling my curls as my stomach dropped to my toes. Mr. Hayes was running after us. He nimbly dodged donkeys and carts, skirted around people crossing the street. When he cleared a tall stack of crates, I let out an impressed whistle despite myself. The man could hustle. It seemed no obstacle
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