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Imagine for a moment the old widow rocking on the front porch. Her lined face is bent down, genuflecting to her needlepoint, the isolating habit that calms her. Her fiddling fingers allow her to slide easily into the cocoon that has become her world. Though time hangs heavy on her hands, she is content. Old-timey music plays in the parlor on the other side of the screened window.
Every now and then, as these things…