Inside
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by Saskia Hamilton No one to hear but records for the broken player. No reason for order but order persists， from breakfast to bath to work to tea to dark， rain falling at one speed， the windows darkening and blurring， accident beating against belief. A loud engine， which is one way to say one thing. The floors dark， swept daily， though it takes at least one hour for the first and one for the last. In the pages of a book， quick studies of hands， tents of hands. |
