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36 Taming Shad Two things he didn’t understand, even after she let him pull her up into the wide hug of the sycamore branches, and after she took to tying her hair in red ribbons he used Sunday wages to buy for her: What had Molly’s little nod meant that first day her body, a bluebag gripped in one hand, ran across his shadow? Laundry day, so she was busy, but something made her take time to answer a question he hadn’t realized he’d already asked. That was one thing he couldn’t understand. What made her nod ‘yes’ to a dusty bruise of a man just walked up to the Jackson place after how long trotting behind his newest master and his master’s paint? The other thing was why, after all those nights studying the creases in his thumbs, the lobes of his ears, the direction sweat took running off his belly, she stayed away from him until the morning glories that had sprung open in his eyes closed again. Did she have to remind him wasn’t nothing to be seen that he could look after? ...

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