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Summary
Flame lives, but it knows nothing more than its own desire to devour.
The Collector envies that. The singularity of it—the ferocity of being understood by all as a thing destined to eat other things alive, whether they tore into old wood or squealing, living things that fueled the flames with their melting, rendered fat. Always, it feeds itself upon the objects it adores.
The Collector still thinks a lot about Philip, even these days.