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"He is," returned Quilt, significantly. It was the size of my palm. “How do you know?” “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” “YOU don’t know. I want you beyond measure or reckoning. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission.

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