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... it?"

We looked at the door. My mom had arrived at some point. She stood at the door, looking at me with relief and nostalgia.

"Selma." Aunt Dorothy covered her forehead with her hand. "Don't tell me you're going to stir trouble with the child."

My mom laughed, "How can this be called stirring trouble? Think about the past. When you and I were teenagers, we did many ridiculous things, didn't we? Perhaps this is the path every child has to go through, and the obstruction of ...

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