Sleet knifed down through the dying day, slashing across the grey and darkening sky. The cold hard rain pelted the weedy fields which surrounded the ramshackle carnival grounds. The chill wind made the once bright and gaudy banners flap like the battle flags of an army defeated long ago. While pellets of ice danced and clattered on the swayback roofs of the carnival concessions, the insinuating wind caused the old timbers to creak and groan. Through the rainswept gloom the lights of Blackston’s Mammoth Carnival showed dim and hazy. Dark, hunched birds roosted on the slanting plank fences.
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