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Harland tried to find the right words, but the store was already filling with them, swelling like storm clouds. A man by the stove leaned forward. A woman clutched her shawl tighter. Someone whispered, “That’s her,” the way folks spoke at funerals.
Harland finally managed, “Where have you been?”
Nora’s mouth twitched, not into a smile but into something that suggested the muscle remembered how. “Up.”
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