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Answered by jill d #170087
The unnamed ache was the feeling and understanding of hatred.Somehow I didn’t quite believe that, or didn’t want to believe such things could happen to us. It was the humiliation. That continuous, unnamed ache I had been living with was precise and definable now. Call it the foretaste of being hated. I knew ahead of time that if someone looked at me with hate, I would have to allow it, to swallow it, because something in me, something about me deserved it. At ten I saw that coming, like a judge’s sentence, and I would have stayed inside the camp forever rather than step outside and face such a moment.
Houston, Jeanne Wakatsuki; Houston, James D.. Farewell to Manzanar (p. 130). Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Kindle Edition.