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When Shmuel flung the reed mat aside and shouldered through the doorway, the house did not relax as rooms usually did after anger passed. It seemed to hold its breath. The lamplight trembled along the plastered walls as though the flames themselves feared to be caught speaking too loudly. Hannah pressed her hands together under her shawl and kept her eyes upon the door a heartbeat longer than anyone else. Then she lifted her chin and, to my astonishment, smiled—small, steady, as if she remembered a secret we did not.
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