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“‘Kid, I can’t see nothin’,’ called Sink. He stopped and dismounted, went to Archie. The earlier snow had melted as fast as it touched that red, feverish face, but gradually, just a fraction of an inch above the surface of the hot flesh, a mask of ice now formed a grey glaze. Sink thought the mask could become the true visage.”

– Annie Proulx, “Them Old Cowboy Songs,” Fine Just the Way It Is

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