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She is ironing when it hits her: a wave of pure whatever originating somewhere below where she is standing that is sucked up through the live current of her body, moving close and full against the walls of her guts, straight up to her face where it breaks into a smile and she has to put the iron down. She stops her breath then starts it again, and puts her hand on her heart where she can feel it beating through the cotton of the borrowed t-shirt. She doesn't make the connection between what's happening in her body and the sudden flicker of the lights in the room.


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