" Do you think the power is going to go out?” Clay thought the day—the smell of yellow sponge, the percussion of the rain—seemed almost unnervingly normal. “It goes out in storms, doesn’t it? Like, downed branches? And if there’s something wrong in the city. And then that noise, whatever that was? I think we’re lucky that it’s still on, but maybe we shouldn’t push our luck.” Amanda looked at her husband. “Go! "
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