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... e to a crying child.

I took Harriet, who was crying in the hallway, to the dining hall, and handed her a macaron that was in my pocket.

While I offered it to her, I was taken aback by how fumbling and awkward my attempt to console a crying child seemed. It was like something an old person would do.

“I don’t want it, it’s disgusting because you touched it! It’s dirty! Throw it away and get lost, I’m not eating it!”

“It’s not mine. The seniors gave it to me.”

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