Just now, in the train: a bloke and his dog. The bloke was sixty if he was a day, and looked like a character portrayed by Clint Eastwood in a movie: hard-bitten, work-roughened hands, very lived-in face that looked as if the man had spent time in a war, in prison, on the road, or a combination of it all. He could have been a demon-hunter, too, as
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