
Elizabeth Strout Reads "Motherless Child"
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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The Phone Goes Dead
Almost three years it had been since she had seen her son. Olive hadn't yet taken the pictures off the wall, but the place looked remarkably different. She did not think of herself as a person who had knickknacks,. But there was a box of stuff in the back corner of the kitchen. The phone rang again. Are you supposed to be talking on a cell phone and driving, Olive asked?
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