Cendaquenta

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The sore backs of the long journey west seemed less to the fore of our minds. All that riding grinds down your backbone till I believe you gain for yourself a little store of bone dust in your buttocks. That’s what it felt like. Every rut, every slip of your horse is a jolt of pain.
Days Without End: AN IRISH TIMES BEST IRISH BOOK OF THE 21ST CENTURY
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