‘And how old will you be on your next birthday, then?’ This was always the question that Maude dreaded the most. Why did adults think that this was so important? Why didn’t they ask what books she’d read? She could give them chapter - and verse. She could quote her favourite line. Maude touched her thinning hair. A grey wisp fell. ‘I’m not sure.’ Maude sobbed. ‘Eleven?’
Fabulous - so sad a story in such a little paragraph
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