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... vier than usual. Maybe because of the overcast sky hanging low, or maybe because the smell of despair was more pungent than the smell of the sewers.
Dayat and Dola were walking home to their new inn (a decent rental room on the border of the Middle and Slum Districts). The sack on Dayat’s back contained unused Iron-Silk, and his pants pockets jingled with silver coins from selling the nets.
They had just harvested. They had money. Life should feel light.
But Dola walked s ...
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