A tall, pneumatic blonde approached and led us through a hallway. We entered a chilly, sterile room with yellow-green walls. Kenzie sat in a chair. I climbed on the examining table, then curled into a ball.
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I looked through the collections and found a CD of an Appalachian gospel group. “This one looks like the only stuff I know. My parents say that modern music is evil.”
Rory laughed. “I’d mostly agree, but not for the same reasons, I suspect.”
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