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“What brings you over here?” I asked. “To be away from home,” she replied. “Last Friday, school got out for the summer, and today my step-dad told me to get out of the house, because he was ‘sick of seeing my *#&@ ugly face.’” In an instant, I knew much about this little girl. I had come across many children like her before. Knowing how far away she lived, I asked, “Aren’t you concerned about getting home for lunch?” “I’m not allowed home until dark,” she replied. My heart ached for her as I considered what her home life must be like. “Would you like to eat lunch with me?” I asked. “It won’t be anything fancy, just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” She nodded vigorously, and I led her into the house. My landlady was there, and I introduced Emily to her. “I’m *#&@ glad to meet you,” Emily said. My landlady, a very proper Polish woman, raised her eyebrows slightly at such language. Emily ate nearly a loaf of my homemade bread, each slice smothered in strawberry jam. She also drank two full glasses of milk. As she finished, she asked, “Are you an angel?” 35