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It turned out his aunt was a widow woman with ten children, living in a nasty, rundown old cabin on a turkey farm where you couldn’t get to the privy without stepping in turkey mess.

When they arrived in the town called Agony, Luna ran ahead to the widow woman’s house, just at the border.

“You got that widow woman interested,” he laughed.

“This is the room of a widow woman,” Ms. Aziza said, gesturing to the dark two-room hovel where she lives on an abandoned construction site.

That widow woman could have started a school in there, the way I understood it.