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Lying as you do, in bed, in the aura of the bedside lamp before one turns it off, I wonder to myself.
I wonder why with all this great insightful, introspective, philosophical, self-awareness I seem to amass over the course of a day, can’t I lay it on the page, so to speak. The moment is quiet and the world well over there out of the way so why can’t I summon up the wherewithal to get it out?
Back to Harry Hole and his quarry the snowman.
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