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So when those flowers were spread into the gravel road by the thick oil, it must have been the look on his face, the way he jumped to pick it up, the way the coins looked sad and heavy, the way he ran away without looking back, with the tin bucket it his hand, trying to rescue the flowers from the weighty oil — it must have been his witnessing, in the simple language of his child mind, the slipping away of the prospect of health, wealth and happiness from him and his family, that tore me apart in that moment… Continue reading needed

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