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all she’d left behind were her plangent songs that tell me so little and her unfinished memoirs that reveal little more

Now that I’ve been around (hey, hey) I am no longer astonished at the lubricity of these old biddies, but at the time I just couldn’t get over it.

I was being savagely pressed against his chest and peremptorily ordered to get into bed.

Dawn Powell, the doyenne of oft-rediscovered authors, finally made it into the Library of America in 2001

Maybe lasting love is a rare evolutionary lagniappe.