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In a much less distant past, as a nostalgic refugee of farm life and the fishing village, my mother took her children camping in the summers at Hubbard's Beach, where the primordial jellyfish baked on the sand. My brother and I each told embarrassing stories about the other to the other children at the camp site, or we pretended not to know each other, or we ran together and chased crabs in the tidal pools and climbed the rocks. It was there, in the summer before the fourth grade that I lost myself to a small girl in the sharp grass superstructure of the soft white sand dunes.
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