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By 8:45 a.m., the clouds cleared, the sun came out, and the grass in Nielson’s fist began to crinkle and snap.

Dark, dense clouds of smoke had engulfed the room.

Interspersed are darker clouds of gas, which although much cooler, are still a searing one hundred thousand degrees.

“As I looked out at the horizon from my office this morning, I saw gray clouds over Los Angeles,” Carvalho said as he opened his remarks.

“The next time he came out of the clouds, he went straight into the water. Full throttle.”