Her eyes found his. “Like the wind. Or a train’s whistle, way far off. Or thunder, long before you see the lightning. A lot of things.” “How long have you been able to hear it?” “Since I was a little girl.” Josh couldn’t help but smile. Swan misread it. “Are you making fun of me?” “No. Maybe... I wish I could hear a sound like that. Do you know what it is?” “Yes,” Swan answered. “It’s death.
-Robert R. McCammon
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