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While he listened to the sporadic chirps and rattles from the wet earth, the fermata of buzzing in the trees, he grew envious of them. Even as one tiny beetle landed on his forearm, its belly lit like a harbor light, the wings and antennae fluttered, and in an instant, he couldn’t tell if it was still there. They could vanish. Why couldn’t he?
The Man Burned by Winter (Rooker Lindström, #1)
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