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“She also told me,” the young man added, setting down his cup, “to tell you her name. Before she married, she was Ada Marta Fejerman.”

Lucía produced a folded photograph so faded its edges were lace. In the grainy greys Ada could make out a woman in a coat, the outline of a star at her throat. Lucía’s voice trembled when she said, “She left with nothing but a locket and a song.” Ada Marta Fejerman