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11 MIGRATIONS Close Range Almost a mirage: 8:30 a.m., Highway 13, north, near Lake Superior , a wolf in the road, stopped. He or she was thin and young and not nearly afraid enough of people and what cars do to animals standing in the street. It lifted its huge floppy feet into the wet grass and stared— She gasped, her heart flared, and the wolf wobbled—and its look was one of almost recognition , but mostly a half-distrust. It saunter-wavered back onto the highway and walked down the middle and another car was coming and she flashed her truck’s headlights and the approaching car barely slowed, the wolf unswerving from its stance on the yellow dotted lines, and two more cars came, too fast, tailgating, almost clipping him as he stood on the margin now, then he got back onto the pavement, looking back at her hardly breathing, looking back, and he took the corner, and was gone. ...

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