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46

Mira stood in the center of the living room. She did not even turn to us, her eyes and, apparently, her cry were directed at Reed. He stood at the window half-turned to her. Or maybe he turned around to meet us. If I even got to know him a little, then he likes to meet such conversations with his back. Grandma Cooper sat regally in a narrow burgundy high-backed chair. She didn't change her gray clothes. For what son, I wonder, she is now grieving. On the couch, the same burgundy color as much in this house, sat a downcast Bruce, he examined his overworked hands. He seemed to be very anxious to return to his workshop so as not to take part in this conversation.

- Where is the confidence that this will not happen again? How can we trust this family?

Mira's new wave of rage stopped us on the threshold of the living room. We froze with containers in our hands.

- Whole family? Are you ready to kick out four members of the pack without good reason? - Reed, unlike Mira, spoke quietly, but it
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