O is to cry along  of t tears, and I, too, beat my c in mourning and  ty maiden beside me, leaning on ely different frame of mind, I ouciful life. If I could cry like t once a , I mig o roam treets all day just to make ends meet, forget being mocked for my ermouther.

    I like social gat to my ’s content, and, at time, forget t I’m t candy, marzipan bread and fruit leat and tea-cup pastries of circumcision ceremonies; drinking sour-c at celebrations an in ting everyt ossing do by t wakes.

    I quietly slipped into t on my s doairs. Before I turned into tc an odd noise coming t to table. I took a feeps in t direction and glanced inside to discover t S and Oried up t of painting e grandfats and brusry to escape,  said and slapped the boy.

    “My dear cle no  eac?” I said in a voice as velvety as I could muster.

    “Mind your own affairs!” S sed.

    I noticed tened, blond-er of tormenting standing beside tever reason, I felt for ely. Forget about it, noher!

    In tc me suspiciously.

    “I’ve cried myself dry, er.”

    Sly. Before I drank it, I stared into her eyes, swollen from weeping.

    “Poor Enised. “People’s mout like bags t can be cinchere was foul play involved.”

    In an exaggerated gesture, s oes. ted  looking at me said, “May God protect us from baseless slander.”

    gesture confirmed  to ruth.

    “’s going on?” I asked abruptly, w.

    Indecisive ood t ty over Ser Enis  tears.

    “’s to become of me, now?” she