How many? How many have there been? She lost count. She can’t remember. She probably doesn’t want to remember. The mere mention of the word move makes her cringe. If she could hide under the bed, under somewhere, and make all of it go away! But she’s not a coward. Whatever else she is, she is not that. Now there nothing to do, but go forward, whatever that means. Now she’ll get together the suitcases, the books, the clothes, the china, the pots and plants. The china reminds her of home. The saucers and cups and teapots give her a feeling of comfort. She makes believe she belongs.


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