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jill d #170087
From the text:
As a thunder rumbled outside, Mahatma Gandhi’s shaky yet oddly strong voice quavered loudly from the static-filled radio inside the hall.
Anjali peeked out the window. Sure enough, as the last few drops of rain fell from the sky, her father was in the backyard, making a puckering noise with his full lips and scattering a handful of rice and grains on the ground.
She banged the pestle on the edge of the mortar and screamed at her daughter.