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The Letters I Never Wrote

Wendell pushed himself up on the cane, slowly, to his full height.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, “use the past to excuse what you’ve done to your mother.”

“What past?” Ezra looked between them.

“What is he talking about?”

Gideon’s face was a knot of something he’d been carrying for decades.

“Ask him about the land by the valley,” he said.

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