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Friday evening she was on the train again. “Will someone help my children?” I recognized the voice and turned around just before we pulled into the station. Determined to help, I fumbled for a dollar, but I was on the other side of a sea of bodies, and she was out the door quickly and into the next car. I considered giving up but guiltily rejected the thought. As the train pulled into the next station, I darted out the car and moved up the platform looking for her without any luck. To my chagrin, the doors closed, but I didn’t mind. I kept looking through car windows for the baby blue coat, but she was gone. The doors reopened, and I got back on the train to Fulton Street.

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