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Hannah feels herself like a plant, tendrils reaching out, hooking on to this house, these women, this life.
She wants to stop and hold her husband. To shake him until his water runs clear again, until his secrets fall out.
They sleep late. They eat long breakfasts of yoghurt and honey and nuts and toasted white bread and strong coffee. They angle their chairs towards the sun.
She is hungry for something that she cannot quite name – some elemental nourishment, something wild. She wants to taste salt water. Be scoured. Feel wind and weather on her skin.
