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“Got you some tea, Mamma,” I say, pulling her inside the house.
Mamma sinks onto a kitchen chair and sweeps off her hat.
Sweat trickles down her neck and wets the front of her dress and under her arms. Mamma presses the ice-chilled glass against her skin. “Aren’t you something, Tessie,” she says. I nod, smartly. “Rain’s coming, Mamma,” I say.
Mamma turns to the window and sniffs. “It’s about time,” she murmurs.
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