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Two years before leaving home my father said to my mother that I was very ugly. The sentence was uttered under his breath, in the apartment that my parents, newly married, had bought in Rione Alto, at the top of Via San Giacomo dei Capri. Everything-the spaces of Naples, the blue light of a very cold February, those words-remained fixed. But I slipped away, and am still slipping away, within these lines that are intended to give me a story, while...
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