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Chapter 70
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... y winter mornings often did in Shropshire: quietly, without ceremony, without urgency. Phillip woke to gray light pressing through the curtains and the muted sound of activity outside that did not yet demand his attention. He lay still for a few moments, not out of reluctance, but because there was no reason to move faster than the day itself.
The sounder did not click.
That alone told him more than any report.
He dressed slowly, choosing heavier boots, a wool coat still ...
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