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A very embittered woman, she moved out of the area. He kept his directorship at Home Hostelries and continued to advise them on suitable properties to target as he trailed from pub to pub his increasingly tired stand-up material. In daylight, her hair was so blond it was nearly white. When she was a little girl, there were times that her windblown hair had reminded him of the silky fibers of milkweed. Jenny was like her mother in many ways, Cork thought. The battered wrecks of old, half-stripped down cars sat useless outside equally dilapidated houses. Uncollected and overflowing black sacks of rubbish had been dumped in piles waiting for a council collection that would probably never come. Acacia Road was a grey, dead and depressing scene.
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