He hadn't come all this way — black light-years and white miles — either to fall back down the steps and break his neck or to tumble into the Quabbin and die of hypothermia in that chilly water. A bubble of gas ran painfullythrough his back and burst near his spine. Instead of the olive-drab plainness of Andy Janas's government-issue pickup (clipboard of papers and forms on the passenger side, squawki “We cannot abide here.
It's our dream and it's not over yet, their eyes insist — Henry's most of all. A ride was the logical assumption. Yes, it would make a good story, people would laugh about the big fart and the big burp, people always laughed at stories about farts and burps. At that time the land surrounding the new lake had been tame.
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