Daze Woolley

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‘Coker,’ I said, as we completed the meal sitting on a store counter and spreading marmalade on biscuits, ‘you beat me. What are you? The first time I meet you I find you ranting – if you will forgive the appropriate word – in a kind of dockside lingo. Now you quote Marvell to me. It doesn’t make sense.’ He grinned. ‘It never did to me, either,’ he said. ‘It comes of being a hybrid – you never really know what you are. My mother never really knew what I was, either – at least, she never could prove it, and she always held it against me that on account of that she could not get an allowance for ...more
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The Day of the Triffids
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