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Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

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ten minutes past three when the latch on the back door clicked.

Robert did not knock, but he did not walk in with his usual large, sweeping stride either. He stopped on the linoleum just inside the sill, his hands tucked deep into his trousers pockets to hide the fact that he was shivering. His blue shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his hair was continue reading …

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