The narration was so vivid you could actually visualize what transpired. She was telling her two sisters the story of her classroom encounter with their meddlesome Social Studies teacher the previous week. But there was something about the laughter that was compelling and arresting.īint, my five-year-old daughter, appeared to be the narrative voice. God forbid that I should be that kind of mother who surreptitiously listened on her children’s private conversation. Now, it had finally transformed into a full-fledged chortle. It began as a silent chuckle, then slowly it turned into a mirthful but stilted giggle.
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