Fiction | February 12, 2013

At the first clear indication that his health was in decline, Jefferies kept a promise to himself and put in his two weeks at the corporate office in Phoenix, showing up in his best suit and shoes to say his farewells. He had just suffered his first stroke—a “pinprick,” the doctor had called it, though it had felt more like a broadsword passing through the left side of his head—and for the first time in his life, at seventy-two, Nigel Jefferies was feeling his age.

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