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Show Hannah Mae and the Mona Lisa 72 Mr. Morris sat also. "I understand about you wanting to visit Paris," he said. C( When I was your age, all I could think about was escaping so I could see the great places of the world." He wiped paint from his hand with a rag. "I grew up in Harlem, Hannah, when you didn't want to grow up in Harlem. My friends only thought about basketball or gangs or running from the police. I was different. All I could think about was going to Paris and becoming an artist." "Is Harlem in New York?" I asked. "It is." "But you made it to Paris," I said. Mr. Morris nodded. "I did. But that's what I'm trying to explain. I've been to Paris, and I've been to London, and I've been to Madrid and Johannesburg. And I've been to every major city in America. But I've decided to live in Willard County." The notion caught me short. I'd never considered that Mr. Morris had chosen Willard over every other place in the world. "Why Willard County?" I asked. He chuckled. "It wasn't easy. I looked everywhere until I found this town of yours. I tried New Mexico and Texas and California. I tried Florida and Washington. As you can imagine, I wasn't looking for Willard. I stumbled upon it. I was driving through, heading someplace that I can't remember anymore, and I made a wrong turn. I drove down your main roads and up your back roads and I fell in love." / Mr. Morris stood and walked to a window. He looked out at his pasture and oho wed a chestnut mareJ"This place is real, Hannah. And the people are real. Extraordinary even." He turned. "Those paintings you saw in my gallery . . . I'm proud |