They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent.
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