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walks towards the wash basin as she runs her fingertips through her hair, stopping to straighten a picture frame that tilted to the left. She goes upstairs without looking at the Maltese, who hasn’t moved. She tosses herself onto the reading chair and embarks on a light nap, needled by pointless worries: the rings on the curtain are coming loose, the garbage truck is around the corner, Alfred’s clothes are still in the closet and she needs to call Salvation Army to take them away. It’s a minor illness, Alfred had insisted. But the disease was there to stay, and the family got used to keeping packets of tissues in their pockets and the coughs that always interrupted their conversations. Senhora Olivia had stopped worrying about it. She didn’t have a way to convince her husband to take his medicine or to bundle up properly — he was a terribly stubborn man. When he passed, he left four children and five nieces and nephews, dozens of medals, and the coral souvenir. A throaty sound surprises her.“Alfred, is that you?” She arches her spine along the chair, Tobias shivering in front of her. The dog spews vomit, spinning in circles. She gets up, startled, and sticks her finger down the dog’s throat, pulling out a piece of coral. The sharp edges have shredded the dog’s soft palate. Yelping in pain, he flees underneath the bed. Senhora Olivia calls for him in vain, holding up the frilly edges of the quilt as the dog cries softly. Crouching by the bed she extends an arm towards him, but he’s out her reach. She pats the floor, snaps her fingers, whistles sharply. Tobias doesn’t react. She goes down to the kitchen — for the second time in a day — and opens the fridge. A flurry of onion skins erupts from the drawer, which annoys her. Scanning the cabinet, her eyes land on the last

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Profile for cusoa

2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

Profile for cusoa