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By the time Shirley had entered the sixth-grade room at P. S. 8, she had forgotten the nightmare and, with it, her fears. At Mr. P’s Tommy O’Brien had snuck up from behind to tug a braid. “Hey, Chop Suey, how are you doey?” Grinning, he then bowed deeply. She thought it rather wonderful that he remembered something she had done so long ago.
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