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... t. Not gone. It was still up there along the north corridor ceiling, drifting slow, back and forth. The kind of movement you get when two doors are open and the draft can’t decide which one wins.
I’d checked it at dawn while I was putting fresh towels by the room.
The towels were fine.
The fog looked at me.
I looked at the fog.
We came to an understanding. It could keep drifting if it stayed above head height and didn’t touch the linen.
That seemed ...
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