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The old man closed the door, hoping to cut out — or at least cut down — the noise coming from the central room of the house, a near-constant sound somewhere between the bleating of sheep and the chirping of birds that plucked at his nerves with the slow, relentless persistence of a vulture feasting on a still-living carcass.

It didn’t help.

Control yourself, Zechariah, he thought, focus on the task at hand.