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The Little Wife's Dress
The little widow walked slowly down the long corridor with her head bowed and her hands clasped. She gave us the broken-hearted smile we had come to recognize. We helped her into the elevator and passed her the skirts, which foamed up around her,. The air was cold, but we hardly noticed. Behind her, the sun had begun, it's plunged to earth, the sky ripe mango orange behind needle-sharp skyscrapers. For a long moment we were mesmerized, frozen where we stood in our regrets.