Annie John, Jamaica Kincaid

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Annie John, Jamaica Kincaid

Then, turning to me, my father asked what he could make for me.
It came into my mind without thinking. “A trunk,” I said.
“But you have a trunk already. You have your mother’s trunk,” he said to me.
“Yes but I want my own trunk,” I said back.
“Very well. A trunk is your request. A trunk you will have,” he said.
Out of the corner of one eye, I could see my mother. Out of the corner of my other eye, I could see her shadow on the wall, cast there by the lamplight. It was a big and solid shadow, and it looked so much like my mother than I became frightened. For I could not be sure whether for the rest of my life…

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