The tumble-and-strew was the detritus of many fallen smokestacks—that much could be extrapolated from the one which still stood. “Better a small hurt now than a large one later. If you still sleep, so be it. But how hard they tried to honor their dead, even at the end, she thought, and a lump rose in her throat.
So perhaps we passed through without being aware. A few things I’ve only guessed at, but most I was shown. Instead, she growled her father’s favorite cuss—“Oh, bite it!”—and spat past her boot. ”She croaked again—that dusty replica of laughter—and nodded appreciatively.
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