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... tly ordered me not to let her leave the house until you’ve finished tidying up her room,» Mrs. Morales — the cleaning lady — informs me in an authoritative voice.
By now, I no longer sleep — well, I pretend to sleep — in my own room. But a teenager’s bedroom isn’t just a place to sleep; it’s a refuge where the passions of the person who lives there are gathered.
And just like Kimberly’s room, overflowing with ancient books, mine too is full of the things I like — and no, it’s not ...
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