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... y, ’It’s okay, I can manage’, to push it back and pretend she wasn’t as desperate as she actually was.
Before she could speak, Cutie untied the mouth of the pouch and tilted it.
Stones poured onto the table with a low clatter.
Kaya’s words died in her throat.
Red.
Purple.
Deep colors, polished surfaces, catching the light of the small lamp and throwing it back in tiny sparks.
These weren’t random pebbles. These were proper stones. Trade sto ...
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