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… Grace was sleeping again, stretched limply across Julia's lap—so Julia lengthened her back against the wall of the shed and stretched her neck to get a look at Danny's hedge. Across the yard and over the hedge of purple flowers he had gone, while she and Grace, who was even smaller then, had watched from the door, stunned, hands still reaching to accept the tray that was no longer being held out to them. And without a thought, the man had pulled a gun from the waist of his ragged jeans and shot Danny clean through his dirty shirt. Even now, Julia could still hear her husband's emaciated body drop as if it were heavy, and feel Grace's tiny hand go limp in her own.
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