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The glass sugar jar sat empty on the sill, placed there by her grandmother nearly fifty years ago. Now the sill and the jar were hers, an unsophisticated inheritance she gladly accepted. The first night alone after the funeral, she stood in the doorway to the cold kitchen, her eyes locked on the jar in the window. An hour passed, perhaps two. Then she opened a cupboard, retrieved a bag of sugar, and refilled the jar.

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