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and wearing his old brown coat. He was seventy-two, half deaf, limping from a bad knee, and built like a retired librarian. To Caleb, he looked harmless.
To me, he had always looked like shelter.
Ray stopped at the foot of my bed. His eyes traveled from my face to my neck. The room changed. Not louder. Quieter. Like a storm pulling all the air out of continue reading …
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