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There was indeed an alchemy in those late-night teenage tarot sessions. The cards allowed us to transmute what would otherwise be interpersonal judgment and gossip into productive conversation and therapeutic advice. It didn’t matter if we could read the future. It mattered that we now had a gentle and empowering way to tell someone their boyfriend sucked.
The Witching Year: A Memoir of Earnest Fumbling Through Modern Witchcraft
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