ANOTHER PARCEL arrived, wrapped in brown paper, secured with waxy twine. The dog sniffed it, growled and backed away, snapped his teeth. Mitchell left the package on the sofa for three days, then cut the twine, removed the paper and opened the box, sighed. Inside, a fuzzy handknit sweater vest. In those colors. He put it on, reluctantly stood in front of the hall mirror. “I look like a goddam potholder,” he said.

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