Danielle Dutton Reads “My Wonderful Description of Flowers”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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Daphne - A Novel About a Stranger
The stranger was alone on the porch. He looked at me as though he knew me. I could sense my husband inside the house, passing behind the walls. But nothing bad happens in Daphne. It's always only lull. No puzzle to solve, no objective, no end. There's only the space of the players to spare and how you managed to feel.
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