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[57] n e W S O F S U rG e ry A birch limb splintered in the night. henry stepped onto the porch underneath the soffit’s awning, felt his mind try to right itself like a windsock. it couldn’t help but be Tuesday morning. Before bed, the doctor had called—surgery for the cubital tunnel in her elbow. henry fell quiet and drifted back to the merry-go-round in Louisville: she turned into a dragon and he the knight, lagging behind. Ahead of them, a Mexican woman cajoled a dozen children into a chariot. We have options, she said. We always have options, henry said. Coffee warmed in the pot. henry poured a cup and stirred in honey and cream. not even nine o’clock, and the sky on the windows floated heavier than a bathtub full of paperweights. ...

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