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| 44 They The tiny, yellow bird slammed into the glass door, fluttered on the ground and died. She buried it and the bird landed on its legs when she dropped it in the hole, a shovelful of dirt changing everything, the young soldier holding the shovel because his hands were a nest, no one in the family resembling the young soldier. He died alone. No one erases lines from old notebooks. They turn yellow on their own. ...

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