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... r that red sweater before, but on her, it accentuated her small face, as pink as peach blossom petals. She sat in front of the table with a set of carving knives he was very familiar with, which her grandfather had left her. On the table, a few stones were placed there.
Qiaoqiao wasn’t carving, instead she seemed to be gazing melancholically out of the window. After a moment, she let out a long sigh, holding a stone in her hand, and a teardrop fell upon it.
She stared in a daze, ...
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