‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. Getting pregnant in high school ended that dream for her. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. "Ha! say you so? You must be looked to. “Why, I do not know.
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