
Elizabeth Strout Reads "Motherless Child"
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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The Shadow of Henry Kittridge
Olive thought she would see her late husband in the little boy, but instead she saw a stranger. The child looked with large, slumbering eyes at Olive as he was placed standing on the ground. Ann said, we got those boots for this trip to Maine, and this confused Olive. We'll take them off before you come inside, Olive said. Three nights, they were to stay.
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