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... fabric that fluttered in the wind like shredded flags.
His beard was a wiry thicket of grey, and his hands shook—not from fear, but from exhaustion, the kind born of too many nights sleeping under alley eaves and temple stairs. His eyes, however, gleamed with a peculiar sharpness that cut through the dust caking his face.
"I... I want to try," the beggar rasped, stepping toward the table of vibrant boxes.
A few people gasped. One woman clutched her companion’s arm, whisp ...
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