In long patches of forgotten pine plantation the needle-hushed floor of land glides up an up, on and on, under endless tunnels of dead green and you seem to have passed through silence into something worse. And then, coming upon a a patch of sunlight the branches neglect to keep out or upon a softened stone-filled cellar pit dug be some brave and monstrous settler centuries ago, you become vividly frightened, as if this other sign of life will call attention to yourself, and the menace of the trees will become active.
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