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-70The Wife Of The Lumberjack King would always sit in the audience during the speed-chopping competition and admire the way his outsized arms and shoulders would almost burst the seams of the red flannel. From the waist down he was scrawny, a stick, but from the waist up, well, tremulous, the way she would describe herself to whomever was sitting close, tremulous, with some fluttery on the side. With chest flushed and eyes all liquid she would be the first to applaud as he captured another event. Then she’d laugh ha-ha with joy and relief and point out to whomever would listen that good thing he was good with an axe because he was lousy on a bicycle and a teetering wreck on skates with those bird legs and tiny feet. What a good guffaw at that! What a funny sight to imagine! But that crowd’s mind never extended as far as those unsettling nights, nights after nights, where he would have to always hold onto any wall for balance, when he had to be careful not to trip on the cracks in the linoleum, when she would lie awake at night marveling and despairing on his tiny, tiny toes. ...

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