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:::The walk has done little to help. A collection of rocks in his pockets, another collection of shells in the other pocket, but the muffled sound of the speaker box has brought him back to the bunkhouse. Fatigue form being awake at night forces him to settle in for a nap, but not before laying the laying the contents of his pockets out, the seashells inside the door and the rocks beneath the window. Who ever, or whatever it is that enters, will not do so without making a noise.:::
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