Her name is Mary. She is 34 years old and lives in a suburb of New York City. With her neatly tailored beige suit, pink designer blouse and necklace of seed pearls, she has the well-scrubbed preppie look of someone who has had a safe, comfortable life. When she begins to speak, the words seem strange, as if they belong to some other person.
"What I remember most about my mother was that she was always beating me. She'd beat me with her high-heeled shoes, with my father's belt, with a potato masher. When I...
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