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Cecily could find her way to the bathroom perfectly well by herself, thank you very much. She might have been only seven, but she could tie shoes, climb trees like a boy, and ride bikes through the leafy streets of their neighborhood back home in Lawrence. She didn’t need any big sister escorting her to the ladies’ room. She scowled at her father, who relented, shrugging.
“So go, then,” said Sophie, the superfluous big sister, who was eleven.
Quivering with insult, Cecily pushed down from the table and strode off across the restaurant. Sophie watched