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[ w i n d s t o r m s : b l a c k n i g h t ]
“When the night came again it was black night, for the stars could not pierce the dust to get down, and the window lights could not even spread beyond their own yards. Now the dust was evenly mixed with the air...Houses were shut tight, and cloths wedged around doors and windows...In the morning the dust hung like fog, and the sun was as red as ripe new blood."
- The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
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