mystery of Pew was a mercury of fact. Try and put your finger on the solid thing and it scattered into separate worlds. He was just Pew; an old man with a bag of stories under his arm, and a way of cooking sausages so that the skin turned as thick as a bullet casing, and he was, too, a bright bridge that you could walk across, and look back and find it vanished. He was and he wasn’t—that was Pew.
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