For forty-three years, Eleanor Hargreaves had sat at the bay window on the ground floor of 47 Albemarle Street and watched people come and go.
She had counted two hundred and fourteen moves in that time. She knew which tenants left behind more than they arrived with and which ones left with less. She knew that the young couple on the second floor in 2018 had split without speaking to each other, and that the old Mr. Kim on the third floor in 2020 had been taken away on a stretcher while his daughter cried in the hallway and Eleanor...
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