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on my porch, shivering so violently her small teeth audibly chattered, was a little girl of no more than seven. Her clothes were a collage of mud-stained rags, clinging to a fragile frame that looked as though a strong gust of wind might shatter her. But it was what she held against her chest—a sodden, whimpering bundle wrapped in a blue fleece blanket—that continue reading …
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