Jade Liu reads an excerpt from "Letters to Nabokov", forthcoming in Wrongdoing's second issue

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TEXT:

Somewhere in America, a butterfly is flying. You would love it
staggered with daylight, a white-rimmed forewing held in provocation
to the wind. See, you would know those greying blue cells
mean vulnerability. You take a few home anyway. On paper sheets
you spread the paralyzed body and sketch every vestigial vein and thrust
the thinnest pin through the crackling thorax. Dedicate it to Véra.

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