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13 Click Padlock closing. Or the door of the cell block. Let it be the grandfather clock near the front door, two weights hanging, one to nudge the seconds, one to bong out the children’s years, the parents’ emptiness. It’s October here, not far from the end. I’m listening, lawn mower a block away, train rattle blown in from the north, nothing conclusive but the click of a bug camped out in the shagbark. ...

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