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... witched into a small smile. She withdrew her gaze, lowered her head, and looked at the apple in her hand, turning it around.
’Have one.’
’I don’t want to.’
’Just try one.’
’Let go.’
’No.’
’Will you let go?’
’No...’
Uncle, next time, next time I will only act cute with you, not lose my temper.
As the apple spun in her hand, a tear dropped onto it.
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