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... s. The cold didn't bite sharply yet—it hovered, warning of what was coming—but tonight, the air held something thicker. Less nerves. More demand.
Jake Wilson paced the touchline slowly as the teams lined up, his hands clasped behind his back, coat zipped high. Valley Parade expected. He felt it hum under his boots, in the stretch of banners over the Kop, in the stamp of feet against concrete.
Post-Ipswich wasn't about licking wounds. It wasn't about rage either.
It was ab ...
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