The Median Isn’t the Message: Revisited

As soon as Mary opened her mouth, it was clear something was wrong. “I . . . hard . . . can’t . . . .” Her forehead creased in spite of her broad smile. She wrung her hands together and looked earnestly at me. “Not . . . .”Her niece, Sarah, shook her head, shifted under the glaring fluorescent light in the subterranean consultation room. “See, she’s not herself, this isn’t how she talks, this…

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