Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. “Yeah, everybody knows him Mom. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. Mrs. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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