
Zach Williams Reads “Wood Sorrel House”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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'Good Morning', I'll See You in the Morning
Every night they placed the doll on her night stand. It was the only way he could bear to part with the thing. If she let him take it into the crib, he'd play with it for hours and never sleep. All the mornings fanned out together like reflections in facing mirrors. For jacob, the final memory was a pale white morning sun in his eyes and a downtown bus approaching. He thought he coming from the jim for rana.
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