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Updated: July 11, 2025
The source of it was plain an open door under a vast white signboard dingily lettered "The Salvation Army." It loomed through the smoke and the streetlights like a discovery. "Our peripatetic friends," said Arnold, with his rare smile; and as if the music seized and held them, they stood listening. "I've got a Saviour that's mighty to keep All day on Sunday and six days a week!
"Alison, that was wonderful, but I have to go home." "Oh." She was disappointed. "Are you sure?" "Yes." "O.K., Joe." He dressed, hugged her, and stepped outside. Widely separated streetlights cast circles of blue light; hedges and trees were dark green in the shadows. He was only forty minutes from home and he wanted to walk in the cool air. Alison was going to make up for lost time.
It didn't exist any longer but she couldn't release it any more than if she had been an immortal proprietor of the heavens. The washer began to spin and kick like a drowning animal caught and fighting to get out. Its squeaking was wild with its vibration but in tone alone it was similar to the calm, mechanical chirping sounds of pedestrian streetlights in Sapporo.
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