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Thomas Neals reached for the small glass of water by his bed and the liquid slid down his throat, scraping, hurting. An icy gust raced through the room, clawing at his skin. Why is the room so cold? He wondered. I thought it was a warm night. He didn't want to think anymore and clicked off the light.
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Book Description Tate Publishing, 2012. Condition: New. book. Seller Inventory # M1620244977