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... uld have.
Min-jae sat stiffly in his seat, the faint smell of crushed fruit rising from his clothes as the wheels rolled over uneven stone.
He could feel pieces of pulp sticking to his skin beneath the fabric. His hair felt heavy, as if several fruits had chosen it as their final resting place.
He stared at the window, pretending he was somewhere else. Anywhere else.
When the carriage finally stopped in front of the house, Min-jae let out a long breath. He stepped ...
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