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The girl who only because she walked arm in arm with her sweetheart looked quietly around.

—Kafka’s Diaries

He phoned his wife at her lover’s apartment. She asked him to repeat himself. He was sobbing and unintelligible. He wanted her to come home and collect her clothes. The sight of them was unbearable. She’d been conscious of his pain before then, but in a strangely general way. To her lover, she’d said, “I feel guilty for not feeling guilty.” But with her husband sobbing, she could virtually see her dresses and shoes in the bedroom closet, and she…

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December 1987

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