Her dad's song became her songa slave's song, a wary song of anger without the means of expression, a song of surviving--a song of escape.
Like any slave, she'd do what she had to do.
"Dad," she whispered. "Somehow, I'll get home. If it kills me, I'll get home."
Like any slave, she'd do what she had to do.
"Dad," she whispered. "Somehow, I'll get home. If it kills me, I'll get home."
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