His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. You must always shave and part your hair straight. More than half the city perished. She confronted him with his own double-standard. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned.
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