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“Has he?” Hotchkiss said. “I don’t know any more. Things linger, Grillo. They seem to disappear, but they linger, just out of sight. In the mind. In the ground. You climb down a little way and you’re in the past. Every step another thousand years.” “My memory doesn’t go back that far,” Grillo quipped. “But it does,” Hotchkiss said, in deadly earnest. “It goes back to being a speck in the sea. That’s what haunts us.” He raised his hand. “Looks solid, doesn’t it?” he said. “But it’s mostly water.” He seemed to be struggling for another thought, but it wouldn’t come.

