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Amanda's encyclopedia was ripped to shreds by someone who wanted to send a message to the Beales.
The yelling went on and on, the way yelling does if only to hear itself. But one person wasn't yelling: Amanda Beale. She was holding one of the homemade confetti scraps, gaping at it. Then she was scrambling across the sidewalk, the street, shoving people's legs aside, grabbing more scraps, crying out, "Oh no! ... Oh no!" And then she was running.