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... were his son crying like that, Captain Zhao would have scolded him long ago.
But now it was his grandson.
And he was fussing about wanting to go home.
"Alright."
Mrs. Zhao, leading the two little ones, headed to Laosan’s house.
It was getting dark, and the collective farm members were no longer working in the fields. Some families only ate two meals a day to save on kerosene lamps; they had dinner before it was fully dark.
And they went to bed ear ...
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