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... quietly under the plum tree, as if a ghost.
Through the eaves of the corridor and the tightly shut carved windows, he couldn’t hear what the two people inside were saying.
Because it was winter, the glass embedded in the windowpane was fogged with a thin layer of condensation. He could only vaguely see the two of them sitting together, their postures undeniably intimate.
The branches of the plum tree, weighed down by the snow that had fallen overnight, scattered flakes o ...
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