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Even the shadows of the trees, shifting in the gusts of hot air that blew down the street, sparkled with yellow-grey light.             "Where does this sand keep coming from?" Becky asked. She held onto his shoulder and shook out her sandal. "We should have rented a car."             "Sarah said to take the bus," peter manseau he said in peter manseau a dead voice. He needed sleep.             "Michael, you're almost thirty peter manseau years old. I think you can rent a car if you want to."             "But Sarah saidÉ" "Sarah thinks we're children. She asked me if we wanted her to pack us a bag lunch." Becky slipped her sandal back on and checked down the road for the bus.
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