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Abstract

The gift of an upbringing. It was all downhill from there: the apartment on Vicuña Mackenna stray dogs and roaming pepper-grinders of Bellavista. And Saint Joseph of the numberless light-bulbs, Mary’s hair of many colours; the sky an empty cathedral in which they would hold hands or pray dutifully to the god of old bicycle parts, the daily melt; the boy meanwhile, lost in the blue brightness of his jacket.