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Jen R.
is on page 293 of 328
And farther, a long way south of the town, the cypress swamps - with the gnarled roots of the trees writhing down into the brackish waters, where the grey, tattered moss trailed from the branches, where tropical water flowers blossomed in dankness and gloom. Then out again into the open beneath the sun and the indigo-blue sky.
— 12 hours, 48 min ago
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Jen R.
is on page 230 of 328
It was like a low song. She spoke and he could not understand. The sounds were distinct in his ear but they had no shape or meaning. It was as though his head were the prow of a boat and the sounds were water that broke on him and then flowed past. He felt he had to look behind to find the words already said.
— Feb 20, 2026 05:40AM
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Jen R.
is on page 229 of 328
When he turned from her he had for a moment a perilous sense of ease and freedom, which was more acute because he knew that soon it was to be shattered.
— Feb 20, 2026 05:39AM
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