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... ugging at his clothes and carrying the muffled, sweet scent of cherry blossoms even though no blossoms drifted on the water.
Behind him the slope rose gently toward the forested ridges; but ahead stretched the glassy, ink-dark surface that reflected nothing on it.
The sky, or the clouds, or the surrounding trees—none of their reflection hit the water. Only perfect, lightless stillness.
"Huh?" He closed his eyes and opened them. Then turned towards the girls, "Another lake ...
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