“There was a spoon in her room. It was a spoon she’d brought from home when she married. It was a brass spoon with its edge worn out and thinned like a crescent moon. That spoon was hung on the iron-ring handle of her bedroom door the first night she moved to her new home. Had a hand other than hers ever taken out that spoon? Had someone ever taken it out and tried to take her and other things from her house? Only she could know and remember the answer to that question. Those who had been living with her in Gasi-ri asked who would dare to steal anything from her house? What would they do with something they couldn’t steal even if they took it? The oleander knew. Ask the oleander. Ask the hydrangeas. Can anyone steal anyone else’s life? And even if they could, what would they do with it? She devoted her life to her life.”
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