She called on all the marathoners to go to Staten Island to help with the clean-up effort and to bring the clothes they would have shed at the start to shelters or other places where displaced people were in need.
Like a ribbon of clotting blood, even the stones of the causeway radiated with pulsant light. Through the fog she could see hulking shapes that shambled along the uncanny roadway, dark shadows against the crimson radiance.
The stories did not seem to me to touch life. They were plainly intended to have a bracing moral effect, and perhaps had this result for the people at whom they were aimed.
That indistinguished mass
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