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home.” I didn’t ask why. Not yet. I gave her a Tupperware with more soup. —”For tomorrow.” She took it and stared at the lid. —”Do I have to return it?” I thought of Mr. Arthur. Of his washed Tupperwares. Of his little notes. Of the way life turns around with a clean spoon in hand. —”When you can,” I said. “And if you can’t, return yourself.” Tessa continue reading …
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