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At forty, when you look back at the soft, "everyone-gets-a-sticker" teachers who taught you nothing, and the one witch who made you rewrite every thesis statement until it was sharp enough to cut glass? You realize:
This string of words looks like it could be:
We all have that one teacher. The one whose name is whispered in the hallways with a mix of dread and awe. At St. Jude’s, that was
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