For that reason, the kids called him Eber Blowhard, or just "Blow" for short.
Ten minutes earlier, Don Eber had paused at the pond to catch his breath.
Eber remembered his coat, out on the ice, at the edge of the black water.
When Allen was close to the end, Eber had done a presentation at school on the manatee.
Eber put the pajama pants on him, then the socks, then the boots.
Looking down at the brain slice Eber had felt a sense of superiority.
Wrapped fetally around the tree Eber traced the scar on his head.
In Eber, a village of about 1, 000 people, 15 people were crushed to death in houses made of sun-dried mud bricks and wood.
One of the hippie girls had said that he, Eber, would be a fox when he grew up, and would he please be sure to call her at that time?
Eber went down on one knee and told the kid in a grave fatherly way that he had to get up, had to get moving or he could lose his legs, he could die.
As firefighters in Eber worked into the night to put out blazes still smouldering beneath the rubble, men stood round fires to keep warm, while women, children and the elderly packed into cars covered with blankets.
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