Through a Mirror Clear

The latest visitations were the most definitive yet in that in them he had a strong sense of a female presence, if not of a reality around it. In the last one, just now, it was as though the woman had projected herself forward from wherever she belonged in a determined flailing of arms and legs in his direction and had been brought up short against some strange skein between them, with her hands wide apart, pressing against it and her nose touching it.

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A writer faces a taboo in his family history. What is real and what is fantasy in his recollections?

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