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233 After Happily Ever After Dido to the Little Match Girl Anne Shaw Barefoot in the snow, you’re a specialist in pathos, I can see. Even at six you have a knack for it. But take my word for it, honey: You can’t just sit there freezing by the wall. I know how it is to want things, to tie yourself to the bed because it burns. I can see you’re that kind of girl dreaming of a lavish room and cake. But let me tell you something: you can be queen of the airwaves and still the signal’s weak. Don’t like yourself too much. I used to believe two bodies could cross out each other’s grief, that a girl could take some comfort for herself. But once it starts, a heart will not stop breaking, that’s the thing. I’ll tell you how it’s going to be: go with the man in the car. When he asks if you’re a pervert nod and tell him yes. You don’t have to know what the word means. Just do what he asks. Because the more you practice giving up the readier you’ll be. You won’t be twirling in a dress singing, make me a match. Build yourself a bedroom in a house of straw and thatch. Just strike one, then another. You dirty little bitch. Because the place for a girl like you is not on the common street. The place for a woman who burns is in the fire. ...

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