
Claire Keegan Reads “So Late in the Day”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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Is It All That Stuff, My Stuff?
She told him, you knew i had to vacate the apartment in rathgar by the end of the month. Did you think i would come with nothing? It's just a lot, he tried to explain. I do not have so very much. Just a lot to deal with. Maybe it's just too much reality. She took a long shower then and changed and drank a full leisure of evian over a chinese that he'd had to order on the phone. The restaurant charged four uros for delivery. He' wanted to walk down to collect it, but she didn't feel like walkingThat night after they'd eaten, a change seemed to come over her, and
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