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... uite was white.
High. The specific height of a ceiling that costs something to have above you, the distance between your face and the plasterwork communicating ’this room is not apologizing for itself.’
Raven looked at it.
The morning had arrived while he wasn’t watching — the quality of light coming through the blackout curtains had changed from nothing to something, the thin lines at the edges going from black to grey to the specific gold of a desert morning that meant ...
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