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Fran Hauser

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“Jena Sinclair had taught him a couple of things about himself in the past few minutes that he didn’t want to know. First, sometime in the past five years, a deep fatigue had wrapped itself around him – not the fatigue that could be slept off with a soft bed and a warm blanket, but the fatigue caused by a tightened harness that restricted. That promised no end to long days and longer nights. A harness of his own making. Cole had realized another surprising thing too. Very surprising for the man who needed nothing and no one. He was lonely.”

“Get me in here. Get me in here now!" I order. I have to get out of the swamp before it happens again. But it does. I feel it before I see it. Dozens of thick, razor-sharp needles pierce my right leg, sinking into my skin. It hurts like nothing I've felt before, and a strangled scream of pain escapes me. Babette whips her head around, the motor forgotten. "Rylan! What is it!" "Get me out! GET ME OUT!" I scream. Fearfully, I look over my shoulder, but seconds later I wish I hadn't as the attacker comes to the surface. It has a scaly body, sharp claws, feral eyes, and a long, ugly, sneering snout that's clamped around my leg. Melanie identifies it with a shriek. "GATOR!”

“In the early stages of any schism, its promoters find themselves obliged to hold by outworn traditions, because they have no central authority which can initiate, and sanction, disciplinary developments. Hence they seldom fail to reproach the Catholic Church with a spirit of innovation. 'It is a common trait among the heretics and schismatics of all ages; schism and heresy have almost always, for their point of departure, a regret for the past, the claim or the dream of going back to the fountain-source of a religious idea, to the discipline or the faith of an apostolic age.”

“Dodge looked up and saw me in the window, then lay down in front of the door. Protecting me, I realized. After that, I started watching Dodge all the time. I saw the way he knew by scent alone when Colette's bread was done cooking, or a squirrel was a hundred feet away, or the wind had changed direction. Before he even saw them, he recognized each of the five fishermen who kept their boats in the cove. Most he would go greet, tail wagging, but one he stayed away from. Over the following days, Dodge became my translator of the world outside the house. Through his nose it became safer, and soon I found myself wanting to inhale the air around me as he did, as something pure and alive and full of messages.”