Twenty years old if a day are the preserved crumbs in the small yellowed box with its remnants of an address and its faded painted silver carnations and bells. Our translation assignment had been to pour honey where thorns of misunderstanding had grown and blocked the path of love. A set of distraught parents over here had needed to pacify a set of angry parents over there.
We took no fee. Instead, we asked to be sent a piece of the wedding cake if our carefully crafted letter did its work.
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