She seemed perfect to you, and even during her first attack of vertigo, which you happened to witness when you were six {the two of you climbing up the inner staircase of the Statue of Liberty}, you were not alarmed, because she was a good and conscientious mother, and she managed to hide her fear from you by turning the descent into a game: sitting on the stairs together and going down one step at a time, asses on the rungs, laughing all the way to the bottom.
( Paul Auster )
[ Winter Journal ]
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