Binka picked up the roughly made cup and turned it in the light to see the greenish glazing all the better. As she did so Mila's eyes followed her mother's movements, studying her facial micro-expressions. Binka knew not to be too quick to praise, her daughter always suspected it was shallow when she did so, too long and her little heart would fall into her wintry boots. She let her face flood with a smile and Mila clapped her little hands, pulsing on her toes. "It's beautiful, my darling. It has that rustic charm that takes back to my own childhood. I will treasure it always!"
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