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spending more time in his recliner watching Antiques Roadshow than keeping the place in order.
“It’s not a driveway,” Jane said. “It’s a nightmare.” “It’s a driveway.” “It’s a nightmare, and it’s more of a road than a driveway. It’s like a quarter of a mile long, and it’s all uphill.”
“And here I was hoping we were all going to die.”
Passive-aggressiveness had slithered into his bloodstream, infecting him like a disease.