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A New England

In the end the plague affected us all. It tore through the divided country like a tornado. A trail of disasters on deserted highways left a people without direction; all the signposts having been burned in the last war. Soon, even the good looking stayed home on a Saturday night and muffins became unavailable in the stark neon shops. Not even for ready money.

While feeling very small, I sit and watch the moon river flow and dream of a new Albion waiting round the bend.

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