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... display of blues, greens, and spots of reds and oranges—the flowers scattering the park—splayed out on the white sheet, brought to life by Rosalie’s fingers. Zoey made a show of inspecting the piece, turning head side to side and humming in deep consideration, like a critic appraising a fine painting for merit, deciding whether it deserved to be hung at a gallery.
“Well,” Zoey said, nodding firmly. “I think a toddler might have done better. It’s abysmal.”
Rosalie glared at her, ...
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