Both men looked up at the sound of a creak. Balancing the same mugs glistening with melting snow, once again his daughter stood in the doorway. Silently, she regarded them, a look like her mother’s, a look too grown for her five-year-old legs, the rounded belly like her father’s, and the messy braids piled on top of her head. Stupid girl, Job thought. He was glad to have a son, a boy.
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