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Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

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over from the office.

“Mom, look at this tea,” Sarah said, picking up one of the silver tins and turning it over. “He bought these at the high-end market on Main Street, the one where they charge eight dollars for a jar of local honey, but look at the ingredients on this hand cream.”

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She handed me the silver tube, her thumb pointing continue reading …

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