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... f the paper bag with the ever-growing pileup of discarded balls off to the wayside.
Footsteps on a gradual approach came to merciful spare my shoulder from popping off its socket. Accompanying those approaching steps was a voice, sounding just as weary as I was feeling.
“How’s progress?” Irene stopped short beside the pile of balls, eyeing it with a rather peculiar look. “Judging by your pileup...”
I huffed, lowering my throbbing arm to the side. “Working on it still...” ...
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