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Sixty-year-old Ning Ran sat under the wisteria in her small courtyard, her white hair as graceful as a crane. She lay leisurely on a reclining chair, drowsiness washing over her.,Ning Ran, holding her grandson, really thought about it seriously.,In that case, the mother wouldn't have died tragically in bed, and her son wouldn't have had a violent father... Perhaps he could even have a good year and a happy family.。

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