Janet Fry

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Then he did what he’d seen done in his own home, what he’d do again over the next twenty-five years in ours, until the marriage was over and the business was broken and their lives were ruined. He hit her. A slap across the face, not a fist, not this time. He claimed it was to calm her down, reset her nerves like a bucket of cold water. He’d claim he’d seen it in
Rough Draft: A Memoir
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