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Sula tries to bring a bit of the magic back with her. She carefully tucks some into her suitcase between the Union Jack knee-high socks for her sister and souvenir Big Ben T-shirt for her mother. She braids some into her hair.
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She died in a car crash yesterday. She was driving down Hawthorne, past the strip mall with the Benihana’s, when her ’05 Corolla unaccountably careened over the center meridian and into oncoming traffic.
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But she knew what she would find. She knew it all the moment she felt the sticky fingerprints behind the slat of her old oak slay bed. The fingerprints that would only be left from a person grabbing it from behind their head. The fingerprints that she
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