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Another one of those books that have been sitting here, patiently waiting for me to catch up - this is by NZ born author Stella Duffy.
"I would sit in your mother's kitchen and watch the sun come up. The kitchen is blue. I remember when your dad painted it. He is dead now. They both are. You killed them. Like you killed me. Like you killed everyone in your past. You do not know your mother and you do not know your father and you do not know me. Because that would mean them all knowing who you were. But I remember."