Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. I slaved over it, contacted half a dozen genealogy groups and came up with zilch. "Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly. John eased off.
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