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'I swing the axe onto the antique dining table, cracking it in two. One of the legs has been wobbling for a while now, so I pull it. Cursing, I check my finger. A long splinter is wedged just under my skin, the end still protruding. I tug at it gently, but it breaks off, leaving the rest submerged, its slender woody stalk visible despite the shadow of the late afternoon sky.' (Introduction)
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Last amended 7 Sep 2021 12:57:56
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