Cendaquenta

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We’re told we’ll see a hundred stops or so but the train moves like a giant dancer for all its bulk. Out front the snowguard parts the snow just like a ship through blustering foam. The snow thrown up pours back across the roofs and in it comes through glassless windows to be brother to soot and sister to choking smoke.
Days Without End: AN IRISH TIMES BEST IRISH BOOK OF THE 21ST CENTURY
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