The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Jhumpa Lahiri Reads William Trevor

The New Yorker: Fiction

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The Hoover and Mrs. LeHiri

At ten, when the cleaning woman comes, Mrs. LeHiri goes out to shop. She parks her small white poujou in the Waitrose car park and gathers vegetables and fruit. Afterward, with everything in the boot, she makes her way to the trompe loi for coffee. Marietta claims to be Italian also, having had an Italian mother, but her voice in manner or cockney. Not Vivaldi now, perhaps a Telamon minuet, runs Mrs. Leathwest's thoughts in her garden.

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