right hand

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Late night sounds: keys clicking as I type, the clock ticks, and in the other room, the gurgle, rush, and roar of our dishwasher. Something wooden settles with a soft creak. A bookcase? A floorboard? I don't know. I will myself not to hear the mouse. (No mouse.) In a moment I'll hear the spring move in the clock, the chimes, the hour. And then it will be tomorrow.

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