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And things started to happen, but none of them were the things we said were going to happen, and none of them were the things anyone else expected either. But at least something had begun. Or so we thought. Were we willing to classify whatever it was that seemed to be happening as “something”? We had no choice: we couldn’t go back and the only way forward was to go with what was happening. What was starting. What we thought. It had something to do with the way one thing followed the next. If we didn’t intervene. All we had done is open the door. It was exhausting.
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