The Flower That Blooms Without Asking
Mrs. Delaney sat at her bakery window on George's Street in Dublin, watching Arthur Dufour push the wheelchair through the damp morning fog, and she thought about the word "kindness" the way one might examine a strange insect—turning it over in the fingers, looking at it from every angle, trying to understand how something so small could carry so much weight. She was sixty years old, widowed,...
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