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“The rhythmic creak of quiet footsteps came from the other side of the door. Ruth paused before bowing down to peer through the same keyhole her son had looked through. There was nothing in there except an empty room in worse condition than theirs, peeling walls, mould, grime, no bed, no nothing, save for an undeniable draught of melancholy blowing through the keyhole.” — Jonathan Dunne
The rhythmic creak of quiet footsteps came from the other side of the door. Ruth paused before bowing down to peer through the same keyhole her son had looked through. There was nothing in there except an empty room in worse condition than theirs, peeling walls, mould, grime, no bed, no nothing, save for an undeniable draught of melancholy blowing through the keyhole.