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Like all mothers, I have long since mastered the art of nursing joy at one breast and grief at the other.
Memory is a wicked thing that warps and twists. But paper and ink receive the truth without emotion, and they read it back without partiality. That, I believe, is why so few women are taught to read and write. God only knows what they would do with the power of pen and ink at their disposal.
Witchcraft. As though there is no other explanation for a woman who excels at her work.
