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Summary
Something the biographies never seemed to mention: Potter had a lazy gait. He slumped wherever he went. Walking away with wide shoulders that needed dragging toward every next horizon line, legs lagging, all of him with that heavy tendency to sink into the moment and be petulant about giving any of it up. He would linger deep enough in the present to slip into the past if he could, and he could.
He did. Almost every day, lately.
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Bookmark Notes:
what IF there is a space saved for me in hell and the train is leaving the station so I am running for my life