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... w, leaves of a parasol tree swaying. A fine drizzle covered the sky with an orange veil, the barely detectable light rain tapping the eaves, a thin mist letting through a bit of hazy sunlight, and a thick rime forming on the pines outside, gently scattering the broken light that fell.
The sky was about to clear.
Apart from the ticking autumn leaves and parasol trees, the brown roof tiles hidden by them, the white rime, and the orange sky—and besides An Su Moningsta, two years lat ...
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