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Jude had been ten, but his rage was big enough to fill a man twice his size.
Her uncanny ability to pretend as though Terry existed in some parallel universe never failed to creep him out.
It would have been nice to live next door where there was no danger of being cornered by an angry man; where, regardless of tragedy, there was compassion.
The ground was a chaotic pastiche of ferns and downed trees, a coat of moss shining through in shades of neon chartreuse.
