“Finally, he smiled, and although his smile was bumpy because some of
his teeth were jagged and broken, it was a warming, infectious smile
that was reflected in his eyes. It made her smile widely in return. She
felt as if the room had been lit up. He held out his arms, and she went
across the room to him, almost running. She buried her face in his
shirt, her nose wrinkling up as the scent of his cologne mixed with the
nutty, sourish smell of camphor that filled the room. He put his arms
around her, but gently, so that there was space between his forearms and
her back, holding her as if she was to fragile to hug properly.
Awkwardly, he patted her light, bushy aureole of dark brown hair,
repeating: "Good girl. Fine daughter.”
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