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The Woman Who Saw What We Couldn’t
Mrs. Sholape lived three houses away from mine, in a narrow yellow bungalow that always seemed darker than the others, even in the afternoon sun. In our neighborhood, people whispered her name the way they spoke about bad dreams quickly, and with a glance over the shoulder. To us children, she was simply “the woman who saw ghosts.” My mother met her first. One evening, while...
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