He's in his room, guys, Alfie Cavell says, giving them a wan smile. Walking around it and making it bigger. Simple as that. And why bother? the voice inside inquired — the voice of darkness, his old friend.
Duddits called thirteen, and Jonesy played it out of Duddits's hand. The gray afternoon light slanting in through the dusty front window glinted oddly on his lips and chin. It was the book Jonesy had been reading in the stand. Or you could pick one up at Gosselin's for seven bucks.
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