1I used to dream about the dark. I was usually in the woods in the dream. There was an animal nearby, the dim reflection of lake water pushing through the branches.This night was similar: dark sky, blackened pines, pinprick stars. The only ligh [...]
As far as Henry could tell she never seemed to wonder what it all amounted to or who she was becoming. Her thing with Henry was part of it, too. She liked him. He was her type. She said this in a way that simultaneously turned Henry on and gave him the feeling that he’d cleared a very low bar.
Rick Trundy does not like staying ashore, even when the wind is blowing twenty knots. It's 4:30 in the morning in mid-April, early in the lobster season, and while most of the lobstermen in Stonington, Maine, are someplace warm, drinking coffee, he's steaming his forty-foot boat, the Crossfire, southward down the east side of Isle Au Haut, already pitching over five-foot swells that grow in size the closer he gets to open water.
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