_Sam’s little boy was only three years old. He stood there in his T-shirt and shorts, his hair messy, strawberry-jam stains all over his lips. He didn’t come up to Sam’s belt buckle. But he looked at his father sternly, and the words crackled coldly from his taut lips:_ _Sam didn’t feel insane. Yet there was a frigidly adult gleam of righteous anger in little Henry’s eyes. And the world outside had become a topsy-turvy place where anyone over thirteen could be considered senile and a candidate for euthanasia._…
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