“Okay. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. Men usually do.
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