“Why?” my grandson asks. A little hand pats my leg, soft but insistent. Round blue eyes search mine as if the connection somehow might supply what he needs to know. Maybe those annoying repetitions of a child are much more than they seem.
“Why?” my grandson asks. A little hand pats my leg, soft but insistent. Round blue eyes search mine as if the connection somehow might supply what he needs to know. Maybe those annoying repetitions of a child are much more than they seem.
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