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Dance Lessons A sharp gasp of pain greets her knock. She lingers to give him time, then steps in quietly as he strains to stand. His legs, knotted from burns tangle in the frame of a walker, as scarred as the hands that grip the worn gray handles. She reaches to steady him, a hand around his waist. To distract from his pain, she smiles and asks, “Would you like to dance?” A grin tugs at taut scars that web his mouth. "I'd love to," he whispers, "just not the Fox Trot." She winks and answers, “I only know the shuffle.” |
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