The Address in the Margin

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2026-05-08 17:36:19 -

The autumn of 1925 smelled of cigar smoke and fading ambition. I arrived at the Cliffside Sanitarium on a Friday morning, carrying a leather portfolio and a letter from the editor of The New Yorker that read more like a dare than an assignment. "Write about what you find," the letter said. "But be careful what you find." The train from Manhattan to Long Island took three hours. I watched the...

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