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Twenty minutes

Icy morning.
Icy morning.

Winter then in its early and clear stages, was a purifying engine that ran unhindered over city and country, alerting the stars to sparkle violently and shower their silver light into the arms of bare upreaching trees.  It was a mad and beautiful thing that scoured raw the souls of animals and man, driving them before it until they loved to run.

~ Mark Helprin, Winter’s Tale

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