If the man in the photograph that appeared in the newspapers, holding the hand of his dead child was standing in front of us now, there are no words that we could say to him.
If the man in the photograph that appeared in the newspapers, holding the hand of his dead child was standing in front of us now, there are no words that we could say to him.
Then, while saying this, the memories of the men who had seduced her, her husband's colleague who had approached her as if it were a joke, the section chief with whom she had held hands, her relative who she had tried to kiss while she was drunk, shined as if projected upon a broken mirror.
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