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Montāžas Teksta
Tich Miller wore glasses with elastoplast pink frames and had one foot three sizes larger than the other.
Have Tubby!
Gole!
When they picked teams for outdoor games, she and I were always the last two left standing by the wire mesh fence.
We avoided each other’s eyes, stooping, perhaps to re-tie a shoe lace or affecting interest in some fortunate bird
And pretended not to hear the urgent conference.
No! No, have Tich!
At eleven, we went to different schools. In time, I learned to get my own back, sneering at hockey players who couldn’t spell.
Tich died when she was twelve.
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