Shuffling a 90-year old deck can deal a surprising hand When I was in second grade I started piano lessons with a woman named Mrs. Pond. Her house in Grafton , Massachusetts, with its dark Victorian parlor was not far from the schoolyard, so I could walk there and then home after a private class. There is nothing much to the memory now besides a deck of cards that the teacher gave me, perhaps because I was sad. Our family was moving to New Hampshire and I did not want to go.
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