by Maria Crossan
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““I could sense that it wouldn't even take her asking me a question - just one single word, something totally trivial - and I'd lose it. I've slowly learned to live with the feeling. It hardly scares me anymore. It comes over me with almost soothing regularity. And I give in to it - but of course only when I'm alone. Other people, especially those who thinks they know me, would find it upsetting. Basically it's nothing more than bleeding radiators. It has to be done every now and then.”
“I could sense that it wouldn't even take her asking me a question - just one single word, something totally trivial - and I'd lose it. I've slowly learned to live with the feeling. It hardly scares me anymore. It comes over me with almost soothing regularity. And I give in to it - but of course only when I'm alone. Other people, especially those who thinks they know me, would find it upsetting. Basically it's nothing more than bleeding radiators. It has to be done every now and then.”
Is there such things as an European small town? This collection of short stories tries and pretends there is, but I'm not so sure.
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