Blueprints of Loss
Act I The elevator on Fulton Street stuck between the third and fourth floors every Tuesday, which was why Eileen O'Connor took the stairs. She lived on the sixth floor of a walk-up in Lower Manhattan that smelled of boiled cabbage and floor wax, and she climbed those six flights every morning at seven o'clock with a paper bag containing two rolls and a pat of butter wrapped in wax paper,...
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