’ Pottiswick sucked at his teeth through the gaps. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. "Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried.
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