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They opened the door to the mail foyer and discovered over a foot of snow covering the tile of that small space. The outer door, which didn’t always latch properly, had been pushed open by the wind or the snow. It was all just white, flat white with gentle mounds interspersed. And above and around all that fixed white was a blur of moving white, blown this way and that by violent winds still pushing at their door, blowing more snow into the foyer, cutting at the skin of their faces even inside the protected space.