We spend a year and a half blowing swans. We excuse the odd behavior of our offspring: The tapping. The fixating. The tapping. The caution. We know that their fragile nature angers the coach and other parents. We know that they distrust all that refuses light passage. In the evening we read them stories of pagan girls whose impractical footwear prolongs the spell, and Christian healers whose prayers turn prosthetic eyes to flesh. ✱✱✱
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