An Unkind Summer
An Unkind Summer The letter arrived on a Monday in September, which was the kind of timing that Clara Bates would have found ironic if she were the ironic type. She was not ironic. She was desperate, which is different. Desperation has no humor in it; it is the most honest emotion a person can feel. The letter was on heavy cream paper, the kind that costs more than a week's rent in Manhattan....
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