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... he was mentally polluted, his thoughts were ups and downs, and he stared at the picture in a daze.
It wasn't until a bony hand stretched out, picked up the blackout cloth on the ground and put it on the easel, covering all the pictures, that the black-haired young man realized that he was already dripping with cold sweat.
"This is still an unfinished work, and there is no time for it to be published."
A pleasant male voice came from his side, like a cold spring in a mountai ...
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