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9 Empty Plate I take off my glasses, let my face go long, one eye half-closed, mouth slightly open. That’s the face itself, not me. When did we drift apart? Where had I been keeping this drawn-out mask, when I taught and loved, even held an audience in my hand? Somewhere, just behind my skeptical nod in class, I’d stored away this empty plate, hoping never to open up the cupboard. ...

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