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3 What a Doll Am I I rise naked each morning and stand at the window with arms outstretched and feet apart like da Vinci’s figure in the circle and wait for the day’s attendants to dress me in garments they choose for that morning— a shroud one day, a coat of lead the next. What a doll am I to these attendants whose only task is to remind me day after day of who I am: that man or woman I think I’m not. deNiord text-2.indd 3 11/10/10 10:40 AM ...

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