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Sometimes it's the looks, and the nods that come with them. Sometimes it's a six he hits: the ball floating through the air, over the olives, the acacia, and the creek at the bottom of our garden. His high, echoing crows of glee following it.
But most often he's at the window, his fair hair drenched and glinting, his young face lit with energy. And I grab him and hold him, not letting go even while he backs away, dragging me out of the window. I hold him so tightly, until he stops struggling.
It was the tics, to begin with, and we never imagined it could be more than the tics.
My mother tells me of their first appearance: how at the 1969 Royal ...
Source: HighBeam Research, Will.(sibling relations)