The Hail that Pounded like Cooking Pigeons A Short Story by Untitled writer Tom Jones had always loved quiet Madrid with its tasty, tart tunnels. It was a place where he felt calm. He was a brutal, delightful, whiskey drinker with fragile eyes and sticky hands. His friends saw him as an alert, abundant angel. Once, he had even helped a rich puppy recover from a flying accident. That's the sort of man he was.
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