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I’m me,” she whispered. “Me”Nel didn’t know quite what she meant, but on the other hand she knew exactly what she meant.”I’m me. I’m not their daughter. I’m not Nel. I’m me. Me.”Every time she said the word me there was a gathering in her like power, like joy, like fear. Back in bed with her discovery, she stared out the window at the dark leaves of the horse chestnut.”Me,” she murmured. And then, sinking deeper into the quilts, “I want… I want to be… wonderful. Oh, Jesus, make me wonderful.
