ToC After running to some distance down Seacoal Lane, Jack stopped to give a last look at the vehicle which was bearing away the remains of his beloved and illfated mother. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. At once. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. “What you have done.
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