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77 The Photograph It is large, square, black and white. A happy picture. A father, an uncle, a sheik and an Imam—head wrapped in a turban, a long aba draped across his shoulders, silver wire glasses on the tip of his nose. He is smiling. They’re all smiling, the four kind-faced men. The men are looking down at the little girl, Noor, three years old, dark eyes, long eyelashes. But Noor is looking away at something far past the edge of the photograph, perhaps lost in a childhood daydream: running on a wind-caught beach in a pink swimsuit, blue glitter in front.Yet, here her body stands small, covered in black cloth, not a strand of hair visible, no arms, knees, only the smooth skin of her face and hands. Towering above her, four good men, pleased with little Noor. They, in their short-sleeve shirts in Chicago’s mid-summer heat. ...

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