It was ten o'clock at night and it was hours since a living soul had appeared in the streets of Saint Martin des Bois. Not a light showed in the windows, for the shutters were hermetically closed. The village lay as though deserted. The inhabitants had locked themselves in long before twilight; and nothing would induce them to unbolt their doors before dawn. - Exerpted from Balao
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October 31, 2011
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