The fireplace in Blackwater Lodge is fronted by a small couch with a big squishy armchair on each side. After braving the snow, Raymond and I collapsed, he into one of the armchairs and I on the couch.
An hour later, a frat-boy type in his 30s plopped down in the other armchair, heaved a sigh and stared into the fire. And stared. And sighed, in
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